HARVARD MOUNTAINEERING

Number 31 JANUARY, 2 0 2 1

THE HARVARD MOUNTAINEERING CLUB CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS HARVARD MOUNTAINEERING

Number 31

JANUARY, 2 0 2 1

THE HARVARD MOUNTAINEERING CLUB CAMBRIDGE, MASS. Photo, Vladislav Sevostianov To those who came before us and turned this affair of the soul into the best damned HMC we could imagine, and in whose steps we hope to follow.

Photo, Nicolò Foppiani In Memoriam

Mark Herzog August 22, 1992 – January 27, 2020 In Memoriam

Photo, Kevin Ziechmann

Janette Heung May 26, 1985 - September 5, 2020 Club Officers

2019 - 2020 2020 - 2021

President: Elissa Taylor President: Elissa Taylor Vice President: Kyle Sutton Vice President: Jack Lawlor Secretary: Gennie Weiler Secretary: Kyle Sutton Treasurer: Kami Krista Treasurer: Paul Georgoulis Cabin Liaison: Ken Pearson Librarian: Eli Frydman Cabin Liaison: Ken Pearson Gear Czar: Jack Lawlor & Librarian: Serena Wurmser Lincoln Craven- Gear Czar: Charlie Biggs & Brightman Chris Partridge Graduate Liaison: Nicolò Foppiani Graduate Liaison: Nicolò Foppiani

Faculty Advisor Prof. Paul Moorcroft

Journal Editor: Serena Wurmser

Copies of this and previous issues of HARVARD MOUNTAINEERING are available on request for $10.00 each from the Harvard Mountaineering Club; #73 SOCH; 59 Shepard st; Cambridge, Massachusetts 02138, USA. Contents

2019 HMC Bolivia Expedition ...... 9 Eliza Ennis & Vladislav Sevostianov

Meteora Greece, August 2019 ...... 15 Carson Denison

Climbing the Matterhorn with Janette: the 2019 HMC ...... 34 trip to the Alps Nicolò Foppiani

Trad before Trad: Life at the Gunks in the 1960s ...... 42 Mark Van Baalen

Ice on my Axes: Planting Season in the Himalayas, Iceland, ...... 50 and Patagonia Emin Aklik

Alpine Alternatives: The High Tatras ...... 58 Walter Latusek

The Year That Everest Broke? ...... 68 Thomas Becker

Tribute to Mark Herzog ...... 75

Tribute to Janette Heung ...... 101

Cabin Report ...... 124

Club Activities ...... 125

Membership ...... 127 T r i p R e p o r t 2019 HMC Bolivia Expedition

Expedition Members: Eliza Ennis, Elin Hedin, Cornelia Idoff, Vladislav Sevostianov, and Kyle Sutton

P a r t 1 Summit of Stairs by Eliza Ennis ‘19

n our first acclimatization hike, we didn’t leave La Paz. Starting from our hostel, the four of us (Elin, Cornelia, Vlad, Oand I) wove our way through the streets of La Paz toward the city edge. We passed the tiendas full of llama wool hats and brightly decorated ties and the church square with protestors and street food. At the main road, we were shepherded across the striped crosswalk by people in zebra costumes. Known as cebritas, the furry crossing guards have been manning ‘zebra crossings’ and reducing traffic in- cidents across Latin America since the 1990s. After the busy crossing, we began our ascent up the steep side streets. The crowds thinned and our pace slowed. Elin and Cornelia had flown in from Sweden via Miami (both very much at sea level) just a day or two before, while Vlad and I had come from Wyoming and New Mexico (a bit over 5,000 feet). La Paz, on the other hand, is the highest capital city in the world, at just below 12,000 feet. The next stage of the ascent included a set of grueling stairs. We were rewarded partway up by taking a break on some empty play- ground equipment. School children ran in the streets higher up, swing- ing their backpacks with ease and not noticing the lack of oxygen. A large dog growled at us from one street, so we shifted our route up a different stairway. We reached the top of the stairs and made our way up a winding paved road toward the teleférico station. After avoiding a few more dogs, we stepped on our first trail, which wandered up a sparsely

9 Vlad, Elin, and Eliza at the top of our hike in La Paz. Photo, Cornelia Idoff

wooded hill behind the teleférico. This trail led us past a decaying cat and a graffitied wall and some teenagers drinking out of a large soda bottle. When we emerged from the woods at the top, a gravel road and some adorable puppies were our only obstacles to the top. We had reached a round concrete terrace that looked out over the city. Though we hadn’t set out with a specific destination in mind, this felt like the right place to rest our quads and claim our first peak. Just a few hun- dred yards from a nearby house, we topped out at 13, 210 feet. This elevation marker, like most of our measurements throughout the trip, was accomplished using Snapchat. Not feeling the full descent, we bought tickets for the teleférico for a few bolivianos each. Elin, Cornelia, Vlad and I climbed aboard a cable car and zoomed down the mountain that forms just one side of this bowl-like city. All around us were people on their daily commute, avoiding the traffic and smog of city buses below. The never-ending staircase of our ascent zipped by in a few sec- onds, and we could see just how many buildings checkered the sides of La Paz’s city slopes. We could also see beyond the city toward high desert mountains like those we would attempt to summit in the com- ing weeks. Compared to those, our staircase hill was just a light city

10 stroll. Weirdly, we also saw a small wildfire whip down a neighboring mountain, but luckily it seemed far from any houses. The cable car landed back in the center of the city, and we walked back to the hostel, proud of our accomplishments and reminiscing about oxygen.

P a r t 2 Getting to Khara Khota Base Camp by Eliza Ennis ‘19

ur next acclimatization hike took us to La Cumbre, a shale- covered mountain pass of around 14,700 ft. which we skipped Oacross with far greater ease than we had felt laboring up the steps in La Paz. Despite the cold, Elin and Cornelia brought along alpaca skirts and Elin pulled a third skirt out of her bag for me, which we modeled, shivering, to prove that our ability to overcome both alti- tude and cold was improving. To get to La Cumbre, it seemed like we spoke with half the guid- ing agencies in La Paz to find a driver. It was well worth the effort, however, as Edgar and his micro (a small bus befitting our obscene amounts of gear) proved to be critical in getting to all of our future basecamps. With the confidence of vaulting up La Cumbre under our belts, we began to plan for our first longer adventure. We (mostly Vlad) poured over maps to identify routes, and we (mostly Vlad – our fear- less navigator) decided on the Khara Khota valley as a basecamp. After Vlad explained the route to me, I translated and haggled trans- portation price with the guide company. We also went shopping, purchasing lentils, vegetables, and an exciting array of spices that none of us could identify from a street market. With overflowing bags of gear and groceries, we piled into Ed- gar’s van and took off towards the mountains. We drove up the side of the La Paz bowl that we hadn’t yet tackled and through the area of

11 the city known as El Alto. We passed a garbage collector that played music like an ice cream truck, made a lengthy stop for gas, and then drove out of the city. Crumbling walls along the side of the highway were laced with pro- and anti-Evo Morales political graffiti. When we turned off the main road, we were met with sparse fields, small houses, and small clusters of livestock. The road began to climb, and we passed the basecamp of a mining operation. Soon, we found ourselves driving down a windy one-lane mountain road with several thousand feet below us on one side and a steep scree mountain on the other. It was beautiful and exciting. Then, we met another car. Going the other direction, the car had wedged itself as far into the mountain scree as it could, leaving a space for us to slide by. I was confident that remaining space, with a several thousand-foot drop on one side, was smaller than the width of our van. The driver of the other vehicle disagreed and convinced Edgar he could make it. We were all terrified. We began to inch through the gap, but about halfway past the other car, a van tire slipped. I dove through the window of the van and grabbed the other car, leaning halfway out the window. Somehow, we didn’t fall off the cliff, but I held onto the other car as we continued to inch, trying to apologize in tearful Spanish to the passengers in the other vehicle while also refusing to let go of their car. Compared to that part of the journey, setting up basecamp was a treat. Edgar dropped us off skeptically, and we lugged our many bags across the semi-frozen grass and moss ground. We set up two tents behind a small hill for wind protection. As we would learn in the coming days at Khara Khota, water was both our friend and our enemy. Elin, Cornelia, and Vlad had to be constantly reminded to drink enough water at the high altitude, while I drank so much water that we had to constantly pump more, a cold and dreaded task. The stream ran directly out of the base of a nearby glacier, a fact which felt abundantly clear when your hands turned blue while doing dishes. The cold, it turned out, was not just a water-related issue. That night, the tent that Vlad and I shared iced over – inside and outside. We barely slept and spent the whole night shivering. The next day, we practiced skills, and the inexperienced among us (Elin, Cornelia, and I) learned to feel comfortable on a rope team and execute rescues under the leadership of Vlad. Elin and Cornelia both had a magical

12 13 Top - Vlad, Cornelia, Elin, and Eliza at La Cumbre. Photo, Edgar Bottom - Cornelia, Elin, and Eliza cooking at basecamp in the Khara Khota Valley. Photo, Vladislav Sevostianov way of pulling out more and more layers and putting them on un- til they resembled warm marshmallows, but Vlad and I never truly warmed up, and we decided to re-think our sleeping arrangement. That night, all four of us crammed into Elin and Cornelia’s tent. Due to poor planning, Cornelia had to wrap herself around a large rock on one side of the tent while the rest of us tried not to knock elbows. This was certainly the warmest solution, but not the most spacious. Though we tried several configurations, ultimately, we settled on stacking, and Elin slept on top of me like a warm blanket. Our schedule on most days consisted of starting to cook dinner around 3:30pm, heading to sleep by 6:30pm, and waking up a bit af- ter midnight to start a peak. For the first peak we tackled, Wila Llojeta (5,244 meters or 17,204 feet), we tried making hot water and oatmeal for our midnight breakfast. Given that the water took more than half an hour to get warm, a process that involved as much pot-staring as jumping up and down to stay warm, we gave up on warm breakfast for future endeavors, opting for a slew of Cliff bars instead. Indeed, throughout the trip, we each averaged 2-4 Cliff bars a day, comple- mented by a large dinner. Wila Llojeta also cemented another food- related custom for the trip: eating Annie bunny gummies on the top of each summit. The quick sugar was often complemented by a Snap Chat selfie to double-check what altitude we had reached.

P a r t 3 Dogs and Bogs by Vladislav Sevostianov ‘19

ur next objective after Wila Llojeta was Janco Laya (5,545 m or 18,192 feet). We could see the snowy summit across from us Owhen we topped out on Wila Llojeta. Both peaks we were attempting in the Khara Khota Valley were rated easy from a technical perspec- tive—the true challenge was navigation. The glacier on Wila Llojeta had massively melted from the recent photos I had seen of the moun- tain taken a couple year ago—a somber reminder of the dispropor- tionate effect climate change imparts on tropical glaciers. Thankfully

14 we had managed to navigate up without too much difficulty—but the glacier had really turned to snowpack. The Khara Khota valley is not listed in the sparse guidebooks or online resources discussing Bolivia, and I only found out about it thanks to a student at Harvard Business School who had climbed in Bolivia the year before. He let me know about John Biggar, a Scot- tish climbing guide who self-published a non-detailed but fairly thor- ough guide on climbs he has done in the Andes. I contacted John for his book, and after discovering John’s reviews of the good technical accessibility of the climbs around Khara Khota, my contact at HBS also confirmed that Khara Khota was a great area for warming up to some of the more serious climbs in the Andes, though it was a remote place. In his time in the valley and surrounding mountains he only saw a single person—John Biggar himself. Our primary navigation resources were thus some diagrams and a couple sentences of route descriptions from John’s book and some 1980s Bolivian military sur- vey maps of the area. For Janco Laya, we started around midnight from the base camp we had set up and followed further up a mining road (which Edgar used to drop us off a few days earlier). The road after about an hour passed over a hill—the turn off to start Wila Llojeta was on our right. We kept going, descending into a new valley. Eventually we turned leftward off the road, seeing what looked like a small foot trail head- ing in the direction of Janco Laya. Between the road and the mountain was a large and long clearing—no climbing or scrambling required to reach the foot of the mountain. It was a cloudy night—and with a lack of moon light we depended exclusively on our headlamps. The dirt and frozen grass turned moister and mossier and we continued on. Then, loud aggressive growling approached us. We were not sure what sort of animals were upset with us, but the growling and barking was growing louder, and we decided to stop approaching it. With the aim of moving towards the mountain, we turned a bit right (the same direction the mining road pointed) and moved forward, hoping the avoid confrontation. The growling did not abate however and looking back we saw our headlamps reflect- ing off many eyes. At three in the morning the sun was still a long way from rising, but we guessed that perhaps we had wandered onto land which dogs of a sustenance farmer guarded.

15 We took out ice axes out dreading an oncoming furry assault and hurried away through the dark. We started jumping from one little moss island to another, with endless little streams creating a puzzle board out of the land. I was reminded of the scene of Gollum, Frodo, and Sam in The Lord of the Rings crossing the Dead Marshes to Mor- dor. As we jumped our way across, the reflections of the dog’s eyes dropped out sight and the dogs gradually fell out of hearing entirely as well. We came to large boulders—the start of the mountain. We kept moving rightward, committed to not approaching the dogs whilst seeking a place up the boulders to move up the mountain. We gradu- ally found a way up. Occasional llama scat gave us encouragement that the way up was possible. The climb seemed never ending, and we had trouble finding snow or glacier—both of which, according to the description and our visual observations from Wilja Llojeta earlier, we should had definitely hit by now. Sunlight was finally alleviating our night blindness, and we continued upwards. By midmorning, we saw the glacier. In fact, we saw the summit ridge. We were on the wrong side of the mountain—

Cornelia near the top of Janco Laya (summit at 5,545 m or 18,192 feet). Photo, Vladislav Sevostianov

16 the snowy massif covered only the opposite face of the mountain. We were on the barren side, not at all on route. It seemed our charades with the dogs had inadvertently brought us halfway around the mountain without us realizing it. It was getting close to midday—we had left basecamp about 11 hours ago, and we had to turn around. We had a choice—go for the summit and descend the glacier (possi- bly faster?) or turn around now and carefully go down the precarious scree we had climbed up. We estimated the summit would take two more hours going up but then descending an unknown glacier in the warm afternoon seemed like a bad idea. We turned around. The decent wasn’t particularly exciting, but we did our best to now move rightward too, moving towards the side the mountain we should have been on, and with sunlight we could pick a better decent route. By late afternoon, we hit the clearing, and made our way to the road. The road was occasionally used by farmers. We had heard a car or two on the road the day before and, being exhausted, we hoped we might get lucky and a vehicle might pick us up. We stopped to eat, really our first meal of the day besides some small bites here and there. I ate a large cucumber and a full salami sausage. Of course, no car came, and so we dragged our feet back up the road to the over- pass and ultimately to our basecamp valley. With the sun having set again, it was the longest continuous day any of us had spent in the mountains—a total time of 18 hours hiking.

P a r t 4 A Glacier for Bunny Gummies by Eliza Ennis ‘19

ur squad of four (Elin, Cornelia, Vlad, and I) returned to La Paz by way of the same road – this time with zero incident—and Oprepared for a big reunion. Kyle and HMC member Kayla Holling- sworth had flown in the day before. The six of us met up at the hostel, went out for Indian food (quite an interesting choice in Bolivia), and celebrated the end of our first adventure and the beginning of Kyle and Kayla’s acclimatization journey. Elin and Cornelia flew home to Sweden the next day, while Kyle and Kayla went to La Cumbre (with

17 a return to La Paz via a hitched ride on a potato truck) and Vlad and I took a very odd taxi ride and sprinted up the last thousand feet of the summit of Chacaltya, a 5,421 meter (17,785 feet) former ski resort that has been devastated by climate change. Kayla departed the next day to visit the Uyuni Slat Flats, leaving Kyle, Vlad, and I to take on the peaks of Condoriri as a trio. Unlike our Khara Khota base camp, Condoriri required an initial hike in. We had pared down our gear (just one tent, for example), but we still had quite the number of ice axes and ropes and Cliff bars to carry. We were able to hire a horse for some of the larger bags. We set up camp inside a circular stone enclosure, likely meant for alpacas, which we saw by the dozens in the coming days. Kyle, like a true hero, offered to layer up with socks and switch mountaineering boots with me, as mine were several sizes too large and had been causing me issues since Janco Laya. Despite practicing our alpine skills and tackling several moun- tains in Khara Khota, climate change had stymied our attempts to get on a glacier. In Condoriri, the paths to the peaks all started on a glacier that gleamed down on our corral base camp. The first day we tackled Pico Tarija (5320 meters or 17454 feet) by navigating our rope team us a relatively straightforward section of steep glacier. Though we had to step around and over a few crevasses, all was rewarded with beautiful views of the valley and our ceremonial Annie bunny gummy at the top. After our happy descent, a 3:30pm dinner, and pumping freezing cold water for the next day, we headed to sleep under a sky of bril- liant stars. On day two, we took the same initial route up the glacier but peeled off partway up toward two other peaks: Diente (literally, “tooth”) (5358 meters or 17578 feet) and Piramide Blanca (5230 me- ters or 17159 feet). The ascents here were a bit more complex, as we had to avoid a few more crevasses, carefully step across an ice bridge, and then cut some steep switchbacks using our crampons for grip. At the top, the snow had melted off, leaving exposed rocky sum- mits which required taking off our crampons and coaxing our cold fingers into some low-grade rock climbing. While the climbing itself was probably about 5.5, our mountaineering boots made footholds clunky and the steep glacier below made falling not a strongly sur-

18 Eliza, Kyle, and Vlad on the Summit of Diente (5358 meters or 17578 feet) with Pequeno Alpamayo behind us. Photo, Vladislav Sevostianov

vivable option. Vlad had led the rope team up, and it was no different above the snow line. We left our crampons and ropes in a small flat area near the top of the glacier and inched our way across a snowy lip to where the rocks began, conscious of the lack of grip on our feet. We each climbed with an ice axe (in case we slipped off the rocks and needed to self-arrest on the glacier below), and Vlad carried a small portion of rope. The sections of slippery scree and exposed vertical steps on Piramide Blanca made my slightly acrophobic heart pound, but we made it up most of the way without a hitch. The last 15 or so feet were very exposed. Vlad decided to continue up and jerry rig a rope system from the top for Kyle and I. The ropes definitely helped with the nerves but were perhaps more of a mental protection than a physical one, as no one was particularly secure. We summited and ate some more bunny gummies before descend- ing, re-rigging our rope team, and making our way down the glacier. The next day we headed out from base camp – this time without a helpful horse to haul our gear. We had tried to hire return donkeys, but the prices were far steeper than we expected, so Vlad volunteered. Weighed down with bags, Vlad swayed a bit as he headed down the

19 Vlad climbing to the summit of Piramide Blanca (5230 meters or 17159 feet). Photo, Kyle Sutton

mountain. As we wobbled downhill, laden with gear, we saw a local woman in flat shoes and full skirts laughing at our approach. I ex- plained that Vlad had volunteered to be our human donkey and she laughed. Set for an early Edgar pickup the next morning, we planned to camp just above the parking area. Idiotically, I stepped off a nar- row bridge crossing one of the streams near where we planned to camp, soaking my shoes and socks. In camp, I set out the shoes and socks to dry, while trying to get dinner cooking. Forgetting an ingre- dient on the other side of the rock, I ran barefoot across the grass. Thousands of tiny prickers pierced my skin, punishing me for my choice and determining that my schedule for the evening would in- clude multiple rounds of pricker extraction. Meanwhile, dinner was a failure, as the piles of lentils I cooked created a more trying challenge for Kyle than either of the peaks the day before. Our final evening in Condoriri included Vlad and I chanting “just one more bite” to a reluctant Kyle and constant hobbling on my side, as I continued to step in prickers.

20 P a r t 5 Los Locos by Eliza Ennis ‘19

e returned to La Paz for a day to buy food for our final Wexcursion and eat three full meals. Then, we were off to Huay- na Potosi, a 6088-meter (19,974 foot) giant that is the most popular climb in Bolivia. As a popular two-day climb, it turns out that most people stay in small huts partway up the mountain on the first night and then take off at midnight with their guides to tackle the summit by sunrise. We took a different approach. We trekked up the first section to the huts and pitched our tent just above the top hut, digging out good chunk of snow for a more protected camp. We melted snow on our whisper light and cooked black beans (one of three rotating meals that we ate during the month of August when outside of La Paz). Overnight, my sleeping pad deflated, but we were up by 1am, so it barely mattered. We started up the mountain about 2am, feeling strong and mak- ing good time. One after another, we passed guides, dragging their clients up the mountain. We shed layers as we gained speed, only re-

Vlad and Kyle setting up the tent on Huayna Potosi. Photo, Eliza Ennis

21 layering when we had to wait in a line for the one technical section of the mountain. After that, we were off again, three headlights surging past rope teams that had started up to two hours earlier. After some final switchbacks, we reached the top around 6:30am. We watched the sun rise over miles and miles of peaks. Kyle and Vlad smiled widely in our peak photo, but I held a sort of grimace, as my frozen face muscles refused to properly smile. We descended, encouraging others as we passed them and being lauded by the guides as “gringos locos.” I haggled with one guide as we passed and made a plan to meet up with him back at the huts to sell our (old) ropes and some other gear. We packed up camp, sold our ropes and some pickets, and wandered back down the mountain to meet Edgar for the final time. Our acclimatization had paid off. Back in La Paz, we took a tele- férico ride, grabbed a celebratory dinner, and watched Kyle tackle a series of local shots that resulted in a special sort of facial expression. We returned to the hostel, whose desk manager kept changing the room price and now visibly hated Vlad (who exchanged heated but futile arguments with him), took much-needed showers, and took stock of our remaining Cliff bars. We were ready to part ways and return to the US, not caring that our brains would soon be flooded with oxygen we now barely needed.

Vlad, Eliza, and Kyle on the summit of Huayna Potosi (6088 meter or 19,974 feet). Photo, Vladislav Sevostianov.

22 T r i p R e p o r t Meteora Greece - August 2019 By Carson Denison

Photo, Walter Martin

he summer after I graduated from college (2019) I went on a Tclimbing trip to Greece with my four best climbing buddies from school. Walter, who is a year above and works at Microsoft, Lincoln, who is about to be a senior, Elissa, who is about to be a junior (and the president of the Harvard Mountaineering Club), and Andreas, who is a post-doc with a family home in Meteora. I flew into Thessaloniki, where I met up with Elissa, and then took a train to Meteora. Meteora is an otherworldly region of conglomerate rock towers in central Greece. It has some monasteries, some world class climbing, and some historic beef between the two. It lies nestled between the two idyllic villages of Kalambaka and Kastraki. It just so happens that Andreas’ grandfather used to be the Kalambaka village doctor, so we had a free place to stay right up against the start of the cliffs. The first night we were treated to an amazing Greek feast by An- dreas’ parents, Vicki and Christos, and then turned in for the night. The next morning, we spent far too long getting our gear ready and

23 getting out of the house, so it was almost lunchtime by the time we got to the start of Sudwestkante (4 pitch, 5.7), a route up the Ambaria pillar. We had a wonderful dog escort (we named him Skilos, Greek for dog) walk us from Andreas’ house to the base of the rock. This was far from an isolated incident. There are a great many street dogs/cats that will escort you through their turf, and then pass you along to the next gang.

At the Ambaria pillar, we split into two rope teams - Andreas, Lin- coln, and Elissa on the club’s twin 70m ropes, and Me + Walter on Walter’s 50m twins. Twin ropes are thinner, so they can only hold a top rope fall on their own. Together, the two can hold a lead fall with no trouble. You sacrifice that for the ability to rappel the full length of the rope. It was my first multipitch, so rope management slowed us down, and the crazy Germans who first bolted Meteora weren’t fans of tight spacing. Run out cheese-grater slab 4 pitches up? My favorite. To top it off, while the first group had shade the whole way, Walter and I were baking in the sun for the entire 4 hours. Sunscreen did its best, but its not that good. All told, it was a nice learning experience. We learned

24 to lead and follow multipitch, everyone got to the top, and the only injury was some sunburn. We capped the day with some wonderful Greek food down in Kalambaka. The next day we wised up and did two things better. First, we got all the gear ready and sorted the night before. Second, we split into rope teams for two different destinations instead of cramming 5 people onto one route. Walter, Elissa, and Andreas went to Doupiani, while Lincoln and I headed west for the Spindle. The Spindle is a 120 foot high spire of rock balanced on the tiniest of bases. It’s just up the hill from Kastraki, right in the saddle between some totally monstrous rocks. It is also by far the hardest route we did in Meteora. I didn’t expect 5.10c to feel too stiff, but the style was unfa- miliar and there was no chalk to speak of. Add to that my mental game being way off, and you have a recipe for a spooky lead. When we got to the top, we noticed a pair of hikers making their way up the valley wall across from us. They took some pictures of us and we returned the favor. Theirs are the only shots we have that really show the scale of the thing. We look like ants on top. With our 70m ropes we had no issue rappelling down, and we walked over to Doupiani to hang out

The Spindle. Photo, Carson Denison

25 with the rest while they finished up. It was only about 2pm, but we had to turn in because it was HOT! The high was in the 90s every day that week! Day three we were a little sluggish and the sun was full out by the time we got to Doupiani. This time with all 5 to take a group picture. We did a nice 60m two pitch called Ostria, took a group photo, and then Lincoln and I called it a day while the rest took their shot at the Spindle. The climbing was rough, because I was learning that down- sized Futuras don’t make a very comfortable multipitch shoe. How- ever, we made up for it with a spotting of Crazy Bee Man, the local legend. Crazy Bee Man used to be a climber, and he loved it so much he moved to Meteora to climb full time. However, after a few years he found God and quit climbing to become a monk. As you may re- call from above, the Monks and climbers don’t get along. They both consider the rocks a holy place, but the monks moved in first. After a few years in the monastery, Crazy Bee Man became disillusioned with the pious life too and now wants to piss off both groups. These days he spends his time raising bees and blasting music from his truck so loud you can hear it at the other end of the valley. We also met a friend of Andreas’ who guides in Meteora, and invited him to get drinks the next evening to celebrate my 22nd birthday. Little did we know we wouldn’t make it back until 4am! Day four was my birthday! (August 22, 2019) I woke up to a birth- day text from my wonderful Mom at 6:46am (still the middle of the night back home in Oregon) and got packing. Today is the big day. Yesterday, Walter, Elissa, and Andreas got their rope stuck while climbing the Spindle. They rappelled down fine, but couldn’t get it unstuck when it was time to pull it down. That meant Walter and I had to go on an early morning rescue mission. We headed out, dashed up with spindle with Walter leading the first pitch and me climbing straight through to the top without stopping. Their ropes had gotten stuck by the friction and their own hanging weight pinching the ropes. We made sure to fix theirs and make our rappel as clean as possible before we headed down. We made it back to the house by 10am. Now the plan was to attempt Traumpfeiler, German for “Pillar of Dreams”, an 800 foot 9 pitch monstrosity up the biggest rock in Me- teora, the Holy Ghost Pillar. The guidebook recommends 5 - 7 hours round trip, so the plan was to leave at 12, start climbing by 1pm, get back down by 7pm, and then head to the bar for drinks. Easy, right?

26 It took us until 1pm just to get out of the house. Then instead of the 45 minutes the approach should have been, the heat and our propensity to take wrong turns dragged out the approach to 90. Between sorting gear and taking a final piss in the woods before the climb, it was 3pm before any of us even got on the rock. We had about 1 liter of water each, and 5 ham and cheese sandwiches between the four of us. Lin- coln stayed behind to study for the GRE. Remember when I mentioned the original developers didn’t like close bolts? This route took that to eleven. The first bolt is 30 feet up, and the second is 20 more feet up to the left. There were 75 foot pitches with 3 bolts. Luckily nobody fell, and the first 3 pitches went off without a hitch. Enter pitch 4. Pitch 4 is even more sparse than the first 3, but its a chimney instead of a slab. That means trad gear. Only Andreas has ever led trad before, so he leads while Walter belays and and while I belay Elissa up to the bottom of pitch 4. Walter heads up next bringing one of Elissa/my twins up so we can top rope this section. Elissa and I pass the time munching sandwiches and coming up with new verses for “what do you do with a bunch of climbers”, sung to the tune of Drunken Sailor. This setup made it so only one of us had to lead the trad pitch, but it did burn up a little extra time. Pitch 5 goes smooth until its time to belay Elissa up. I hear a faint “Fuck!” and see an itty bitty purple object falling down out of existence. She just dropped her belay device 400 feet. It’s gone. Luckily, she has a backup for just this reason. The backup has no guide mode, so she can no longer belay from above, but at least she can still rappel. At this point I notice the sky turning a bit rosy, so I try to pick up the pace a little. Less banter, hauling rope up, and no more switch- ing leads. Things go faster and I start to find my groove. This was my first mistake. When I started to think we might run out of daylight, I should have called everyone to stop and consider turning around. The guidebook says the rappel is not ideal and should only be attempted in emergencies, but a snaking rappel in the daylight is certainly a better option than where we ended up. I reach the top of pitch 8, only one to go, and I meet up with Wal- ter and Andreas as Walter is about to lead pitch 9. Foolishly, we all just watch him climb on as the color starts to drain from the sky. We planned to be on the ground by 7pm, and its already past 9. I belay

27 Traumpfeiler. Photo, Theodore Christopoulos

Elissa up to the start of pitch 9, but Walter is climbing excruciatingly slowly. He’s a 5.12 climber and this pitch is 5.8. Something isn’t right.

As we later discovered, there are actually two routes up from our belay cave. One is easy 5.8, and the other is in the mid 5.10s. A serious climb to do in the dark. Unknowingly we got on the hard one when time was most critical.

After what felt like eternity, Andreas and Walter are both on top, and pull on my rope to let me know its my turn. At this point its color- blind dark. I have to pull out a flashlight just to make sure I’m tied into the correct rope. I also can’t hear a word from up above. The angle is making it hard to talk directly and the wind blows away what little is left. I start to climb and can barely see the holds and have to pull on the draws just to get to the top. I set up to belay Elissa up the last bit. After a take or two, I notice the ATC is jammed. I can no longer take up the slack as she climbs higher. I can’t see why in the near-total darkness. I immediately shout down for her to stop climbing. Anything else she climbs is distance I can’t protect her from in a fall. With Walter and Andreas’ help I tie her off and we fix the system. Luckily, she hadn’t

28 climbed more than a foot since the jam, and by 9:30pm the four of us were standing on top, 800 feet above the valley floor.

We don’t have the guidebook, but we know that rappelling the way we came is not an option. This shouldn’t be a huge problem. My phone has service, so we send off a quick heads-up to Lincoln to say we’re OK but late, and can get the information for the way down off Mountain Project. From Mountain Project: “To descend, walk south along the top of Holy Ghost until you get to the southern end. Look for a single eyebolt to the left (east) that is in an obvious water runoff” We would then have one 10m rappel, and two 40m rappels to de- scend “Way of Water”, another route up Holy Ghost. We pull out phones and headlamps and start walking along the well-trod path southwest along the spine of the rock. Thanks to the big dipper and the north star we can tell which way that is without any trouble. About 100m further along the ridge, the ground gets incredibly steep and the trail disappears. Clearly, we think, this must be the southern end. We couldn’t have been more wrong. We’re barely halfway along, and this steep section is the true peak. Unknown to us, there is a steep outcropping on top of the rock. The trail continues up and over in a little scramble to reach “Way of Wa- ter”. Instead of finding a path, we find a very translucent and scary looking scorpion running at us aggressively. We don’t stick around to

29 look closer. Our two options: 1. Sleep on top of the rock, with no food or water, and a definite risk of being stung by a possibly-poisonous scorpion 2. Find a bolt and rappel down an unknown route into an un- known landing in the dark Now, in retrospect, option 1 is clearly the right move. We could have moved to a scorpion-free corner of the rock, its only about 60 de- grees, and it wouldn’t be hard to tough it out until morning. Walter, to his credit, advocated strongly for exactly that. However, between our thirst, the fact that we had a train to catch at 9:30am the next morning, and the fear of dying to a scorpion sting, the rest of us all voted to just find the route and rappel down. After all, we thought we’d found the southern end, and the rest should be easy. Thirty minutes of searching revealed no single eyebolt, but a pair of bolts in one of the infinite obvious water drainages. That seemed a little suspect, but maybe someone just retro-bolted the anchor and didn’t update MP. Because of our growing suspicion that this was not in fact the cor- rect route, we opted to send one person down and verify the lower anchor before the rest of us even consider rappelling. Given the non- zero chance we’ll need to haul someone back up, Elissa makes the most sense. In the event that she doesn’t find anything, she weighs half as much as the rest of us. Stuck between a blind rappel into an 800 foot abyss and a night on the rock, I can see the stress in my partners’ faces and hear it in their voices. For whatever reason, I feel incredibly calm. The Milky Way is overhead, the lights of the village down below, and the pillars of Meteora show their faint outlines on the horizon. Its breathtakingly beautiful. I walk down to the bolts and anchor myself so that I can talk Elissa through setting up the rappel and hold the light while she sets up the system. I’ll never forget watching the anxiety in her eyes turn to steely determination as we walked through the steps of our plan. Set up your rappel device, test your rappel device, set up your prusik, test your prusik, go down as far as you can and look for an anchor. If you find one, anchor in to unweight the rope and that will call the next person

30 down. If not, call up and we’ll haul you back up. It feels like hours before we hear her call. Success! She’s found an anchor and attached herself directly. We’re going to get off this fucking rock! Walter goes down next, bringing his pair of 50m ropes to rap- pel the next section. Communication is spotty because of wind, angles, and distance, so we agree to use rope tension as our communication. When Walter unweights the 70m rose, that will be our signal to send me down. When I do, I find the situation has turned south. Walter reached Elissa’s inter- mediate anchor and rappelled down further, expecting to find a second anchor, but instead watched the wall turn overhang- ing and completely free of hard- ware. Seeing the ends of his rope approach, he has nothing to do but sit, in total darkness, some 40 feet above the ground below. His prusik will hold him in place, but he can’t move up or down the rope. Thankfully, the rock face across the valley is now close enough that we can yell at it and communicate by echo. This lets us plan. I ask Walter: “Can the 70m ropes reach?” A pause, then “Yes.” Thank fuck, we’re getting off this rock. I anchor into the wall next to Elissa, and unweight the ropes for Andreas to come down. He heads down without a hitch, and ties into the anchor. It’s a little cramped with 3, but we manage. Andreas and I start to pull the 70m ropes, and it moves a few feet, then stops. Oh shit. For 30 seconds, the three of us just stand in silence.

31 If we can’t get the 70m ropes down, we’re really screwed. That means nobody gets down, nobody gets up, and we can’t even haul Walter out of his free space prison without a whole lot of non-mechanically advantaged work. But there is one glimmer of hope. The other end of the rope did move a little before catching, so maybe if we pull that side for a few feet we can unstick and get it to come free. We gave it a shot and then pull with all the might our fingers, which have been pulling hard for over 10 hours, can manage. It starts to move. As we haul, the weight on the other side lessens until eventually it pulls through on its own. We call out a triumphant “Rope!” almost crying with relief. I set up my rappel and cast the rope down, but before I cross the corner I call down to Walter “Are the ends on the ground?” A pause. “Let me double check.” In my mind I’m like “huh?!? you said the 70m ropes would be enough!” But it isn’t long before he calls up “The ropes are on the ground!” Right then I finally knew that Andreas, Elissa, and I were getting off this rock tonight. But we have to rescue Walter first. Walter has a rappel device, but it is stuck holding him up. He needs to switch over to the 70m ropes to be able to get down.

32 I slide down to his level and tie a prusik, so Walter can unweight his rappel device. To take the weight off his butt, Walter made some leg loops to stand out of some extra webbing. Using that, he can stand up and clip the prusik into his harness, taking the weight off his ATC. Once I clear the rope, he can tie in, unclip from the prusik, and lower down. We share the tightest hug of my life. He’s not going to spend the night alone in a climbing harness. I lower down, and at first when my feet hit the ground I think some- thing got stuck in my rappel. I’ve been in my harness for so long that my legs are completely asleep. I can’t even feel the ground beneath my feet. It doesn’t matter now - I am on the ground. Now its Walter’s turn. He gets his device switched over to the 70m ropes, but there’s so much crammed into his belay loop at this point that he can’t untie from the blue rope. I try to find a knife to let him cut free, but to no avail. The best I can do is a mildly sharp rock. He’s on his own.. Using his Heraclean adrenaline strength, he tears the gate off of his carabiner, and from there he has wiggle room to untie from the 50m ropes. Without his weight, the ropes unstretch and the prusik moves out of reach, but Andreas and Elissa haul them up and handle it. Wal- ter is free to come down. Andreas and Elissa follow soon after. By 3am, 12 hours after we got on the rock, we are all on the ledge. Hugs all around, and a few “thank fuck!” exclamations later, we walk on back to town.

Epilogue We get off the mountain almost delirious with thirst. By some mir- acle, we almost immediately find a drinking fountain. We must have been quite a sight.: 4 grimy climbers with bloody fingers and bloodshot eyes, dancing and singing over a spigot. It is past 3:30am, so we split up. Elissa and I take the heavy stuff and walk straight back to Kalam- baka, while Walter and Andreas walk around Holy Ghost to pick up our packs. The walk is smooth, and I start drifting off. That is until a dark shape zooms right between Elissa and me. I have never gone so quickly from sleepy to wolf-fighting mode in my entire life. As my heart slows down from around 300bpm, I realize the dog is friendly and gives us a nice dog escort back to the house. We get home at 4:14am. Plenty of time to catch our 9:30 train...

33 T r i p R e p o r t Climbing the Matterhorn with Janette: The 2019 HMC Trip to the Alps

By Nicolò Foppiani

t’s almost sunset time, and it’s getting pretty cold. Even in mid- IAugust, on Plateau Rosa, the big glacier that falls off the Monte Rosa massif towards the valley of Cervinia, overnight it gets cold. It’s still 3500 meters high, in the middle of one of the most striking and spec- tacular regions of the Alps. But cold temperature is not a problem for us, we are spending the night at Guide del Cervino hut: a tiny but cosy room where to rest and sleep is waiting for us, and the hut caretaker is about to prepare a warm dinner. It’s about 6:30 pm and I am getting out of the bed after resting for a few hours, with a bit of a headache: I am not used to staying for multiple hours at high altitude, and today it’s just the first of a few! I go down the stairs and look out on the balco- ny of the hut. It feels like entering an open-air gear shop: clothes, ropes, crampons and boots are carefully arranged to dry up. Tomorrow will be stormy, and we should try to get our gear ready for the actual goal of the trip: summiting the Matterhorn, or Cervino, as we call it in Italy. The Matterhorn is perhaps the most beautiful mountain in the Alps, definitely the most iconic with that almost perfectly pyramidal shape; it’s not a coincidence it’s part of the HMC logo. Why climb the Mat- terhorn? I still don’t know the answer, but It’s always been a dream, even before I started climbing, even before I had ever seen it in person. When I was a child, I used to spend holidays hiking with my parents in the Dolomites: I liked the mountains and the feeling of being up there. Back then I did not know what climbing meant but I already felt I wanted to reach that astonishing mountain. And when Enrico called me at the beginning of the year to propose this trip...well, I could not say no. I turn left and walk a few steps: it appears prominent and clear: it stands still, silent, it does not look in a hurry to be summited. I come back to the terrace and find my gear, still wet: I’ll leave it there for a little longer. I look on the right, where the terrace turns on the top of the cliff where the hut is anchored. A pretty sharp cliff: it makes you feel the king of the entire valley of Cervinia, you can distinguish all

34 35 Top - Janette celebrates the Breithorn summit in a funny pose. Photo, Enrico Calvanese Bottom - Smiling at the sunset at Guide del Cervino Hut, Plateau Rosa. Photo, Nicolò Foppiani mountains from the “Muraglia”, the 3000m tall ridge that surrounds the valley on the west side, to the Monte Rosa Massif, on the east. Ja- nette and David are sitting on the fence of the balcony, chatting, and taking photos. I am tired but I don’t resist, I also want to be in the pic- tures: I join them and gain my spot in exchange for taking a few pho- tos. Janette’s smile is kind of contagious. I have met her only three days ago, and she still has not appeared tired or concerned any single time. Today, while walking up the glacier she kept jumping up and down, spritzing enthusiasm and excitement to the entire group. And even after summiting the Breithorn, she didn’t feel that mix- ture of tiredness and satisfaction that most alpinists feel, and that I also think I felt, she was just happy! After some funny pictures on the ridge, we slid down on our butts along the snowfields. The Breithorn (4164m) was our preparatory summit, planned to spend time and get acclimated to the high altitude, but nevertheless it was my first peak above 4000m! A mixture of different sentiments, strange feelings, ex- citement, anxiety, laughs, and great moments, this is what I will re- member from this summit. At 7 am the alarm wakes up the entire room. I feel rested: after the Breithorn summit, we spent one full day in the Oriondé hut, at the foot of the Matterhorn, to recover and wait for the good weather. We now have a two-day window of sunny weather and clear sky: it’s time to try. One more time, I am the last one to leave my bed for the breakfast room. I order a coffee and sit at the table. Janette is in front of me, she says good morning with her usual smile: she is excited, I can tell she is looking forward to the climb. We look out the window: a blue sky sur- rounds a whiter Matterhorn than we saw a couple of days earlier. Yes- terday’s storm brought snow and ice up on the mountain, but hope- fully, today’s sun will make the route cleaner. Our objective, the Italian normal route that reaches the summit along the south-west ridge, the Lion Ridge, stands clear in front of our eyes. We will climb up to the Carrel Hut, at 3830m, where we will spend the next night before set- ting off on our summit attempt. The noise of a helicopter captures our attention: we will later learn that the local guides had just rescued a couple that was stuck on the ridge during yesterday’s storm. She did not survive the night. The Matterhorn is a non-forgiving mountain: even in the summer, conditions can be really bad, and moreover, the rock is generally fragile and unstable. I am a little nervous: can we real- ly moderate and keep all risks under control? Will we be able to avoid the danger before it’s too late? Fortunately our group interprets this

36 as an additional reminder, without affecting our excitement and com- mitment. “Mountains will always be there” is something that Carlo often says, and he repeated it yesterday night too. In case things are dangerous we should turn back. Last night we set our protocol, what to do in case someone feels bad, gets injured or in case a storm rolls over, and we set a turnaround time. The first part is a long hike on the talus, we follow the kerns in between patches of snow. We reach Testa del Leone, where we need to rope up, the route starts looking steeper and a bit icy. We start climbing the first technical section: a few slabs bring us to the Cheminèe, a famous fifth or sixth-grade wall, fortunately equipped with a fixed rope. I am following Carlo, we climb up focused, trying to build the necessary confidence for tomorrow. Al- pine climbing is different from sport or trad multi-pitch climbing we are more used to: the average climbing difficulty is lower, the route is more equipped, but conditions can be harsh, the climb is long, and there is no time for breaks and rest. Janette and Enrico are just behind us: I hear an excited voice, they are having a lot of fun climbing up, and I realise one more time that’s the most important component of the trip. Soon after we arrive at the Carrel Hut. Four hours and a half passed, but I would like to keep going and explore the first section of the route we will climb tomorrow. I think we should try to memorise it to avoid getting lost in the dark. Unfortunately, it’s getting cloudy and colder, so we decide not to take any additional risk. The Carrel Hut is a small construction along the ridge, dedicated to

A warm dinner at the Carrel hut, the night before the summit attempt. Photo, Nicolò Foppiani

37 the memory of Jean-Antoine Carrel, replacing the small hut that was built when he started guiding clients up to the Matterhorn after his first ascent through the Normal Italian route. The route is so historical that every section has its own name. To quote some of them: “Corda Della Sveglia”, the wake-up rope, is the first technical move just above the hut, the Gran Corda (great rope), is a long chain that helps to overtake a third-grade pitch that leads to the final stretch before Pic Tyndall, the first peak along the route, and the “enjambée”, literally “a long step” is an awkward and very expose move towards the end of the climb. The atmosphere in the hut is very multicultural: around twenty climbers from all over Europe and the US are dreaming about standing on the summit tomorrow, a mixture of expectations and past experiences per- vades the room. A French guide from Mont Blanc gives us some advice and entertains us with great stories of rescues accumulated in years of experience. After our dinner, we review the route and the strategy one more time, and prepare the gear for tomorrow. We share our feelings and concerns, but also our excitement and our plans to celebrate: we are finally ready to go to sleep. 3:30 am. Red lights blinking in the hut. Despite the noise, I over- all slept well. We gain one of the stoves and prepare oatmeal and tea. We are among the first parties to leave the hut and rope up. I am a bit concerned, I feel not fully ready for this, but we cannot turn back now. David and Adam are very excited, they shout something aloud and start climbing, Janette and Enrico smile and we exchange “good luck”. Carlo turns to me: “From now on focus only on the climb, forget everything else”. I feel more reassured. A bunch of headlamps light on the rock during this dark night: we start climbing, following the first few fixed ropes. It feels great, we are moving quickly, communicat- ing among parties, and progressing on the route. But a few sections after we hear from Enrico and Janette they are not finding their way up: we are stuck waiting for them to progress. The route is obligated, we cannot look for alternatives. We start being nervous and anxious, blocked without being able to help our friends, until, after exploring for a bit, they finally realise the route turns left while they kept going towards a dead end. A few slabs bring us to a nice ledge: the next sec- tion, the “Mauvais Pas”, is an exposed move to overcome a big rock that interrupts the ledge, and it’s creating a little traffic. It’s sunrise, a cloudy sunrise, but still a warm sunrise. The route becomes more and more visible, creating reflections and shine: almost the entire ridge is covered with verglas, that made our climbing so far more sketchy than expected. It’s time to wear our crampons. More snow and ice appear

38 Celebrating during the descent after the summit/failed attempt. Photo, a guide in the hut along the route, conditions resemble more mixed climbing than rock climbing: we are progressing more slowly now, but we keep going. After the “Gran Corda” we find ourselves on the steep ridge leading to Pic Tyndall. We continue moving until we reach the peak, keeping an eye on the summit. From a clear view, it progressively looks foggi- er: the weather is turning bad, a storm might roll over to the summit. The French guide that was “leading the race” with his client decides to turn back. And moreover, it’s 10 am, the turnaround time we set. It’s time for a couple of pictures and, without further discussing, we decide to turn back, starting a series of rappels and downclimbs that will take us busy for a few hours. I see the Carrel Hut, I am tired and thirsty, but happy. I feel we made the right decision, I don’t feel re- gretful. The HMC flag still sits in my backpack: I hoped to make it fly on the summit, but we need at least a picture with it. So we stand on the small balcony of the hut and ask the caretaker of the hut to take a picture. We are smiling and laughing, it’s a great moment. But we cannot spend more time here, sunset is not too far away and we need to get back to Cervinia.

39 40

Janette says “Goodbye, see you next time” to the Matterhorn. Photo, Nicolò Foppiani We start with a few rappels because we feel too tired and not con- fident enough to downclimb the technical sections, but our rope gets stuck one more time, as typically happens while rappelling on such Alpine routes. I climb up again, remove it, and downclimb. It’s sunset time, and the technical part is over, but a long descent on the talus is in front of us. We have been on this mountain for 14 hours at this point, and the fatigue makes our minds less clear. Route finding is difficult, kerns are not visible, and we end up feeling lost a few times. We spot a sling and a bolt that show us the way down. We finally arrive at the Oriondé hut safe and sound, but extremely tired, it’s almost midnight. We will spend the night here before hiking down to Cervinia. After a short chat, I fall asleep immediately. It’s 8 am, the alarm wakes up the entire room. The trip is getting to an end, and I don’t even realise it. Still a bit sleepy, we celebrate the trip during breakfast, recollecting all fun moments on the route. But it’s now time to leave: I start hiking down with Janette, her next step is meeting with her family in Chamo- nix, on the other side of the Alps, and a taxi will pick her up in a couple of hours. She enjoyed being in the mountains so much that she also spent the holidays there with her family. I remember the hike down very well: she was so excited after the trip, that she described the un- completed summit not as a defeat, but as an invitation to come again, as if the mountains wanted us to spend more time together with them. The sky is clear blue, with just a few clouds surrounding the Matter- horn. We turn back and dedicate a few minutes to observe the ridge we were climbing yesterday. “Even if the climb means fatigue, cold, some- times suffering, and often failing, we remember the time we spend on the mountains as a lot of fun, and the feeling produced by the memory overcomes the feeling of the moment”, she says. She stares at the Mat- terhorn one last time, it is her “see you soon” to that mountain she wanted to try to climb again, until reaching the summit. Her smile and her positive feelings are contagious. I feel I am learning more and more what satisfaction and happiness mean when I climb. It’s a hard concept to grasp, often, we do not even know why we do it, but it seems Janette knows it, at least a little better than me. Byebye Janette, I am looking forward to our next adventure together!!!

41 42

“The reach” on Shockley’s Ceiling. Photo, Mark Van Baalen Trad before Trad: Life at the Gunks in the 1960s

By Mark Van Baalen ‘66

he Shawangunks, better known as the Gunks, have been a Tmecca for climbers for decades, since their discovery as a climbing area by Fritz Wiessner in 1935. From 1940, when Wiessner was joined by Hans Kraus, innumerable routes have been established on the sev- eral cliffs of the area, as climbing standards continued to advance. Given their accessible location, generally good weather, and very hard rock, the Gunks have also been a training ground for generations of climbers. The mid-late 1960s represented a pivotal time, as new gen- erations of climbers appeared and equipment underwent a revolution. I was fortunate to be a participant and witness during this era.

By the early 1960s climbing at the Gunks was organized and man- aged (some would say regulated) by the Appalachian Mountain Club. Their program was very effective and trained large numbers of climb- ers. As time went on, however, their management style, seen by some as excessively bureaucratic and controlling, resulted in pushback and a search for alternatives. The Vulgarians in particular, mostly college students from New York City, were more free-wheeling and occasion- ally performed outrageous stunts such as Dick William’s nude ascent of Shockley’s Ceiling in 1964. While I did not witness that feat, I did have the experience of climbing once at Mohonk, and noting a nude woman on the adjacent climb. Was she a Vulgarian? Forgot to ask. Did these things actually happen? Yes they did. Aside from such good-natured antics, the Vulgarians as a group were excellent climb- ers, and raised the standard of climbing at the Gunks. Another benefit was that anyone who could climb could do so without the imprimatur of the AMC.

In the mid-1960s there were few climbs rated 5.10 or above: two ad- jacent routes, Nosedive and Retribution, were the most visible, together with Never Never Land. They were talked about but seldom climbed, the majority of climbers pursuing somewhat easier routes, of which there were a multiplicity. While there was some direct aid climbing, this era was drawing to a close. Many celebrated routes at the Gunks

43 Photo, Mark Van Baalen

were originally put in as aid climbs, and later done free. The standard guidebook was Art Gran’s Climber’s Guide to the Shawangunks, pub- lished in 1964. It was witty, brief, and very useful. This work has since become a rare book, commanding a high price on the used book cir- cuit. My dog-eared copy with scribbled notes has a permanent curve in the spine, resulting from matching the curve of my backside while climbing. Gran’s work has been superseded by Dick William’s guide, as well as others more recently.

The best climber of this era was unquestionably John Stannard, who did things the rest of us could not, including his celebrated first free ascent of Foops in 1967. But the popularity of the Gunks contin- ued to grow, attracting other top climbers, including the irrepressible Kevin Bein ‘70. Sadly, Bein perished in a rappelling accident in 1988. Other influential climbers included Willie Crowther, who led an ac- tive group from MIT. Crowther’s teaching method was to pair new leaders of similar ability and send them off to gain experience on their own. Many college groups were present, but in inconsistent numbers due to loss of expertise by graduation, etc. In the mid-60s I don’t recall seeing many HMC members, perhaps because in those days many of the best climbers in the Club were off in Alaska and elsewhere doing expedition climbs with the charismatic Boyd Everett. As the numbers

44 of college climbers waxed and waned, Gardiner Perry III became the spokesman for all of them, replacing in a genial way the officialdom of the AMC. He negotiated a discounted rate off the daily climbing fee that was paid to Joe Donahue, who was parked at the Uber- fall. Perry was the owner of the well-known equip- ment store Mountaineering Supply, on Commonwealth Avenue near BU. This store later morphed into Eastern Mountain Sports, a nation- wide chain. John Stannard, Kevin Bein, and unidenti- On fine weekends a fied climber. Photo, unknown. group of climbers would gather at Crowther’s house in Massachusetts for a cookout supper, then drive in several cars to the Gunks, arriving late evening. We would park by the side of the highway below the Uberfall, and camp out or sleep in the cars. Although this was not an official campsite, we were permitted to be there and were not hassled by the police. An outhouse was provided. Dinners tended towards burgers and dogs around a small campfire. At breakfast time, Kellogg’s Pop Tarts were popular for some reason. Occasionally someone would drive into New Paltz for other food items. The ancient Chinese strategy board game Go was the rage at the time, and it stimulated our brains. On hot days, in addition to gallons of water, Welch’s Grape Juice in quart cans was the beverage of choice. While climbing, vermin were occasionally an- noying, especially the bees and hornets. Some climbers, including the legendary Jim McCarthy, carried an epi pen. There were also copper- heads around, although I never heard of anyone actually being bitten. When the weather became just too darned hot, we would head for one of the many swimming holes in the area. Today there is an American Alpine Club campground with tent sites, running water, and showers nearby, providing amenities we could only dream of in the 60s.

45 The climbing itself, aside from a few short pitches near the Uberfall, was mostly multipitch routes on the Trapps or the Near Trapps, occa- sionally Mohonk, rarely Millbrook Mountain. There was a bit of boul- dering for fun, but what is today called sport climbing was minimal. Climbing gyms did not exist or were few in number. Bolts were very rare at the Gunks in the 60s, and placing a bolt was actually frowned upon. We ascended to the top of the cliff, trying to follow the clues to the route contained in Gran’s guidebook, and returned through the woods on the clifftop trail. According to Bill Atkinson, this trail has fallen into disuse as many climbers simply rappel back down the cliff from bolted anchors. So Gunks climbing in the 60s, with its emphasis on route finding on ever harder multipitch climbs, was simply rock- climbing, as distinguished from ice climbing or the general term moun- taineering. We were trad before the trad term was invented.

In the mid-1960s most Gunks climbers used stretchy Plymouth Goldline 7/16 inch climbing rope, which was cheap and available. As a three-strand rope it was prone to kinking, sometimes resulting in awkward pauses while surmounting an overhang or while rappelling with a brake bar. It also had relatively surface high friction, limiting options for placement of protection. Later, braided rope, e.g. Perlon, became available but it was much more expensive and had questions about internal damage after a leader fall. Being more slippery, it re- duced friction, but had a tendency for knots to untie unless an addi- tional stopper knot was used. Few climbers used harnesses, so most of us just tied in with a bowline on a coil. Later, we used broad sling material wrapped around the waist to spread the load as a Swami belt. Likewise, only a few climbers used helmets, although their usage was increasing.

Footgear was evolving, from the European style kletterschuhe (tight-fitting lug soled shoes) to specialized shoes with hard rubber soles optimized for face climbing. Some climbers, the writer among them, viewed the Gunks as in part a training area for bigger climbs on bigger mountains, and hence the value of stiff leather mountaineering boots with narrow welts.

For protection, the standard was a rack of chrome-moly Chouinard pitons and a good hammer. Leeper pitons were also fine, unless you put them in upside down, in which case they would immediately pull out under load. Some primitive nuts, generally of the hex variety, be-

46 47

Willie Crowther on Ken’s Crack Photo, Mark Van Baalen 48

Top - Don Morton and John Yates topping out on Gelsa, noting their headgear. Photo, Mark Van Baalen. Bottom - A typical rack in the 1960s. Photo, Mark Van Baalen gan to appear, but placement in horizontal cracks was difficult. Steel carabiners were being replaced by aluminum. Similarly, slings of smaller Goldline were being replaced by nylon webbing.

More than any other climber, John Stannard was responsible for the transition away from pitons to nuts and other benign forms of protec- tion at the Gunks. However, it took the invention of cams and other active devices to complete this transition. There was a learning curve as well. Today if one were heard pounding in pitons on the cliff there would be loud protests from nearby climbers. But in the past, it was possible to climb Shockley’s ceiling with only one piton - pro hardly needed below the ceiling, but a 1 1/2 inch angle placed in the horizon- tal crack several feet below the ceiling. Thus while few leaders fell, those who did had a fairly long fall - but all survived as far as I know.

On a personal note, I would like to note that it was climbing at the Gunks in the 1960s that aroused my interest in the cliffs themselves and launched my career in geology. While ascending, I began to no- tice that the rock at the base of the cliff had a different character than the rock at the top. Wonder why? Today I can see that the cracks and fracture patterns that make climbing here so enjoyable result from the origin of the rock itself as clean quartz sands on the shore of an an- cient ocean. The fact that the entire cliff tilts gently to the west creates an abundance of holds on the cliff face: when in doubt, “reach for the bucket”. I went on to climbing in other parts of the world using the skills that I learned at the Gunks.

49 Ice on my Axes: Planting Season in the Himalayas, Iceland, and Patagonia

By Emin Aklik

Over the past three decades, I have climbed in four continents, ev- erything from floating icebergs to gnarly spires to monoliths. Below is a glimpse of some of my undertakings written from memory years after the climbs are done but the fun still lingers …

P a r t 1 Everest/Khumbu Icefall

considered climbing Everest in my twenties but figured I’d be better off leaving it for my late thirties/early forties, knowing that Imaturity and patience were the main ingredients for a successful summit bid and I had none of that. I had climbed mountains before, some on the West Coast including Mt. Rainier, a bunch on the East Coast and in Alaska, some in the dead of winter and frankly I had found some aspects of mountaineering quiet boring. Growing up in Europe, I was used to alpine ascents with easy access to the base of the climbs. Skiing in gear on sleds or hauling up gear from one camp to another wasn’t really my cup of tea. Boot glissading was ok but then there was heli-skiing. Nevertheless, I hadn’t been to the Himalayas before and had hoped they would be more appetizing. I also had no idea about the logistics of a climb of this magnitude, so I decided on a recon trip to the Solu-Khumbu. I figured I might venture into the Khumbu Ice fall while I was there and see it for myself as well. Convincing my (future) wife to tag along made the trip better. Looking back, although the trip wasn’t a climbing trip -- sans my venture into the Khumbu Ice fall -- it was a very good experience overall and I recommend everyone to do a similar recon trip before going all out after an 8000er. In my opinion, there is no substitute for

50 Emin pretending to be a rock cairn somewhere in the Himalayas. Photo, Britny Aklik firsthand experience. Without the physical and mental de- mands that would have come with a climb, I was able to as- sess the terrain, logistics and the magnitude of an attempt more objectively. I also en- joyed hearing the thundering avalanches, cracking of the ice and the dark skies without the worry for safety. The trip also gave me an opportunity to observe the beautiful coun- tryside and interact with the people of Nepal and allowed me to concentrate on learning conversational Nepali. Al- though the surrounding ge- Nepali kids splitting a pack of gum. ography was magnificent, the Photo, Britny Aklik friendly people of Nepal were

51 even better. My assessment then and still is now that climbing Ever- est or K2 or Annapurna in the truest form, would require me to live in and train at high altitude in the region for at least a year and then at- tempt the mountain. And that I cannot care whether I live or die. My wife and I went back to the Himalayas twice more since then and took our kids with but never for a summit attempt, just to enjoy the peace and quiet and the friendly people of the Himalayas.

P a r t 2 Iceland and Floating Icebergs, Glaciers and Moulins

hen I was in my teens, I saw a picture of Alex Lowe climbing a floating iceberg in a North Face catalog and it looked so cool Wthat I cataloged that as something I would want to do someday. That was in the early nineties. Fast forward roughly about twenty years, to the summer of 2010, and there I was in Iceland, standing on a rocky beach looking out at a rather large iceberg in Jökulsárlón, a glacier lagoon in the Vatnajökull National Park, standing beside my friend Ivar and my wife, getting giddy. The trip had gotten underway quickly when Ivar, who lived and guided in Iceland, contacted me saying he located the perfect iceberg in a glacier lagoon, that the iceberg looked solid and hadn’t moved for several days, and that I should hurry the heck up and get there. I immediately started packing the climbing gear, and my wife packed her camera equipment. The same weekend, we flew from Boston to Iceland and managed to stuff our gear and ourselves into a small VW and started driving east. By the next afternoon, we were checking out the iceberg. The plan was Ivar and I were going to first kayak out to the iceberg and check it out and then, provided things looked good, he would kayak me out the iceberg and I’d get on and solo the iceberg and my wife would be the photographer. We put our dry suits and PFDs on and kayaked out to the iceberg and started a series of safety checks.

52 We circled the iceberg, making sure nothing was protruding out of the water, we plunged our kayak paddles into the water as far as we can to make sure if I were to take a dip, I wouldn’t hit anything under water. We hit the iceberg with ice axes to make sure the ice was solid and tried to push and shove it with the kayaks. Everything looked good. Ice looked solid and the iceberg stationary … And then, it happened. Suddenly, all the birds that were perched on the ice- bergs around us in the lagoon took off. Call it a sixth sense, I yelled “Ivar, move, move”. We quickly paddled away from the iceberg and turned around. Looking back at the iceberg, we thought we were fools spoked by the birds taking off. A few seconds later, we watched in awe as the edge of the iceberg came out of the water and it looked and felt like the all the water in the lagoon was getting sucked under the iceberg. The churning water filling the void created by the ice- berg tilt, was as wild as the sound of the crash that followed as the iceberg slammed hard into its neighbor. A few minutes before, I had kayaked between the two. One would think that would have put the cap on my desire to climb an iceberg, but I hadn’t even gotten on one yet. I told Ivar that I’m going for another one. He advised otherwise and said he’s out – he had children and I didn’t. I tried my hand on another, a much smaller one and that one started to flip under my weight. I let go of

Emin kayaking between the two icebergs. Photo, Britny Aklik

53 54

Emin climbing out of a moulin. Photo, Britny Aklik my ice axes, took a dunk and Ivar was nice enough to tow me to shore and to retrieve my stuck ice axes from the iceberg. That finally did put the cap on the icebergs. Later that day, Ivar and I kayaked to- gether from the glacier lagoon to the Atlantic. We were accompanied by arctic tern, seals, and floating icebergs. Next day, we got on to the Vatnajökull glacier and I climbed gla- cier ice over water and did a first, climbing out of an active moulin. Climbing glacier ice over water looked cool but, it turned out not to be too exciting. However, descending into an active moulin and climb- ing out was spectacular. The rushing water inside the moulin echoed on the ice walls and was very loud, the bluish tunnels that formed inside the moulin were beyond this world. It was well worth the risk. Climbing floating icebergs, or glacier ice over water or moulins for that matter, is not very conducive to longevity. In fact, they are extremely dangerous. You usually end up using one or more of your cat lives and hope that you hadn’t used them all by then. I had contacted, prior to my trip, Will Gadd, the only climber I knew who climbed a floating iceberg (in addition to Alex Lowe, but by then, Alex Lowe had already passed away, swept by an avalanche on Shishapangma in ‘99). His response was very clear on the risks but also very valuable. Will Gadd’s response on climbing icebergs: “Icebergs, ah, icebergs... My short advice on iceberg is this: Don’t climb ‘em”…“Seriously, there are a lot of ways to die climbing bergs.” I concur with Will… In that trip alone, I probably used up a cat life or two …

P a r t 3 Patagonia/Cerro Torre

atagonia – I figured, one day, when I grow up, I’d go climb Cerro Torre in Patagonia and the Trango Tower in Karakoram… PBy the time I felt mature enough to consider climbing these, Trango Tower was in the worst possible place it could be, in a disputed zone in northern Pakistan controlled by Taliban. Pakistanis that I had con- versations with strongly discouraged me from going to that region.

55 Kidnapped climbers didn’t instill any more confidence in me either. My wife and I had gone to Nepal during the Mao insurgency but that wasn’t full out war. So, I put Trango on hold and started planning a trip to Patagonia. Knowing that people camped out for up to two months waiting for a break in the weather to attempt Cerro Torre and came back empty handed, I knew it would be a long shot in the two weeks I was planning on being there. Still I felt ready and I went for it.

Sticking high above the desert plains of Patagonia, Cerro Torre is a truly gorgeous spire and what I would consider one of the toughest alpine climbs in the world. It involves navigating snow and ice, fol- lowed by mixed climbing and then a multi-pitch rock and a 200-foot mushroom to literally top it off.

Add to that the weather … The weather in Patagonia is notorious. The weather patterns form in the vast open of the Pacific and gain speed as they move unobstructed towards the west coast of South America and slam ferociously into the first thing they see in their path, unannounced: Cerro Torre and his brethren Torre Egger, Punta Herron, Cerro Standard and the Fitz Roy massif. The sudden change

Akliks climbing around Patagonia. Photo, Britny Aklik

56 in weather can catch a climber off guard on Cerro Torre and kill him.

In the end, I didn’t get to climb Cerro Torre, but I got close. I felt the wind, climbed some golden orange Patagonia rock, had some good wine and excellent empanadas. Conversations with locals over yerba mattes were lively and the landscape was amazing. One of my most memorable moments in my climbing life came when I was sitting on a hanging belay several hundred feet up, zipped up in my red Arcteryx softshell and a condor flew past me several times. The sight of a soaring condor while dangling on a rock cliff, was probably as National Geographic as it could have gotten. Too bad that I had the camera in my backpack and my wife was already climbing above me. I found out later that condors are attracted to red and I probably should have chosen a different color jacket. Live and learn!

Nowadays I don’t climb anything that requires a cat life. Instead, I play with my three kids and teach them climbing. However, I still have a VersaClimber in my office and sharpen my ice axes.

Onwards … Emin

57 58

Mnich was a perfect warm-up for us before the snow climbing planned higher for the following days. Photo, Walter Latusek Alpine Alternatives: The High Tatras

By Walter Wojciech Latusek

he Himalayas are great – there’s no denying it. There are T only two things I don’t like about the Himalayas. One is the spe- cific type of cuisine we explored at altitudes that Michelin stars never reach. Once, when I tried to digest my “dinner” in Dingboche, I needed a helping glass of vodka, shared by a friendly Bulgarian expedition team celebrating conquering Ama Dablam. I understand that testing your limits of all kinds is supposed to be part of the adventure fun, but that one time my stomach didn’t agree... The second thing I don’t like about the Himalayas is having to negotiate a leave of absence from work in order to organize a decent trip. To be able to enjoy mountain- eering attractions in Khumbu Valley, with all the necessary trekking and acclimatization, we had to plan a trip much longer than what is typical in the corporate world.

For such practical reasons I like mountain trip ideas that can offer interesting sites and routes, but are manageable as quick getaways for people with professional lives not licensed by the IFMGA. In Europe, if you want to escape the office or enrich your “European Castles and Museums Tour” and enjoy mountaineering for a few days, the Alps seem like the obvious choice. “Because it’s there” –conveniently located in the very middle of the European Union. However, if you want to try something else, something less obvious there are other interesting op- tions. Heading eastward, the next mountain range exceeding 15,000 ft. is the Caucasus Mountains, which are much less commercialized, with the famous Mount Elbrus. There is also something interesting between the two: the Tatra Mountains, the smallest alpine range in Europe and the highest mountain range in the Carpathian Mountains. Because of altitudes up to 8,709 ft (Gerlach) on the Slovak side and 8,212 ft (Rysy) on the Polish side, trekking or climbing here doesn’t usually require ac- climatization. The Tatras offer alpine landscapes and mountaineering routes, but everything here is more affordable than in the Alps, or any other mountain region in the western part of the Europe. When trav- elling to the mountains from the northern, Polish side, it took us less than two hours’ drive to get from Cracow (which has an international airport) to the parking lot where we started our hike.

59 One of the most famous climbing walls in the Tatras is “Kazalnica” – above the frozen lake. Good rock quality of almost 2000 feet wall, graded from 5.10b up to 5.13b.

In the highest part of the Tatra Mountains, called the High Tatras, there are many interesting summer climbing routes with lots of cor- ners, cracks, chimneys, slabs, and roofs. One of the most famous climb- ing walls is “Kazalnica” - an almost 2,000-foot wall of good quality rock, graded from 5.10b up to 5.13b. During the winter the possibili- ties are even more interesting, as the High Tatras become a typical al- pine terrain covered with snow, ice, and rock, but also frozen turf and grass, useful with ice tools. The winter routes of the Tatra Mountains have served as a training ground for some of the climbers known from mountaineering literature: Jerzy Kukuczka (the second man after Re- inhold Messner to climb all fourteen eight-thousanders in the world), Wanda Rutkiewicz (the first woman to summit K2), and Krzysztof Wielicki and Leszek Cichy (the first winter ascent of Mt. Everest).

There are also some good places for caving and ski touring in the Tatras. Unfortunately, the general decrease in snow depth and snow cover duration due to climate change have reduced the ski touring possibilities, especially in the lower parts of the mountains. Places like the Tatra Mountains, located in the middle of a very densely populated continent, are sometimes at risk. The Industrial Age introduced mining and metallurgy to this region. In addition, sheep grazing caused the

60 The east face of Mnich. Photo, Walter Latusek

deterioration of the vegetation cover. All of this triggered and intensi- fied erosion in the slopes. Fortunately, establishing national parks, on both the Polish and Slovak sides has enabled the preservation of this alpine landscapes’ natural beauty.

When planning several climbing days in the Tatras with my climb- ing partner from the Mountaineering Club in Cracow, for the first day we picked Mnich (meaning “Monk” in Polish). This is a very specific mountain. Reaching 6,785 feet above sea level, it has a smaller altitude and prominence than its Swiss brother, Mönch in the Bernese Alps, it is still quite interesting. With a very short approach and a wide variety of routes, it is very popular among all kinds of mountaineers because climbing this mountain can be very easy or quite challenging depend- ing on the route chosen. Trad climbing routes range from 5.2 to 5.12c, and sport climbing routes are from 5.10c to 5.13b, so Mnich is one of the most preferred locations for climbing schools and also a great spot for more advanced climbers. The latter can find fulfillment on the famous 850-foot wall on the east face of Mnich. The easier, western side offers shorter routes, with many possibilities of retreat, so it is especially at- tractive for testing your skills and love for rock climbing. Built of gran- ite, this mountain has solid rocks and some of the best quality compact slabs and cracks.

61 62

Slabs and cracks of Mnich. Photo, Walter Latusek 63

The winter shade of Mnich (the Monk). All the beauty and dignity a rock sculpture can have. Photo, Walter Latusek The winter shade of Mnich (the Monk). All the beauty and dignity a rock sculpture can have.

64

The easier side of Mnich – the western wall. Photo, Walter Latusek View from the top: the largest lake in the Tatra Mountains. Photo, Walter Latusek

Those who carry more lenses than carabiners and nuts in their backpacks can also find the entire Tatra Mountain range very interest- ing. Mnich in particular offers all the beauty and dignity that a rock sculpture can have to landscape photographers. The first time I saw it I was fascinated by its unique silhouette. It seemed to me to be like a sculpture archetype made by nature to show humans where to start when heading for Rodin’s “Cathedral.” Or, perhaps, “La Valse” by Camille Claudel. From its pedestal it overlooks the largest lake in the Tatra Mountains - “Morskie Oko” (“Eye of the Sea”), which is one of the top destinations of wedding photographers as well as everyday tourists looking for the perfect mountain landscape. You can fit differ- ent seasons in one frame, with turquoise water, green pines, and white mountain peaks covered with snow.

Mnich is just a few hours away from the parking lot at the National Park gate so it can be planned as a day trip. However, we arrived ear- lier, staying overnight in the hut by the lake to enjoy the atmosphere and a truly silent night in the mountains. The other reason was the local cuisine, which was tasty, nutritious and filling, just as needed for our adventure. This hut was our base camp for the next several days of hikes and climbs, as it is a perfect starting point for some of the best routes in this part of the mountains.

65 Mnich was our first day’s target, since it was a perfect warmup exercise before hitting the higher peaks. After a good breakfast it takes about an hour’s walk along a very picturesque trail to reach the climb- ing area. However, if you are a keen photographer it may take much longer, with all the lens changing and chasing the marmots who refuse to cooperate with artists. The climb itself can take from one to several hours, depending on the route chosen – there are dozens of possibili- ties here. Plus you need some extra time for figuring out the best com- position to catch the action in the frame. When we were climbing, the action became suddenly worrying when a helicopter started hover- ing above us to evacuate someone from the mountain. Fortunately, it turned out to be one of the training exercises of the Tatra Volunteer Search and Rescue team, and another attraction of the day for us. Most of the routes on Mnich allow for rappelling back down, and we did, as the helicopter was fully booked…

It was a perfect warm-up for us before the snow climbing planned higher for the following days, with longer approach and climbing times. Mnich seems to me to be a symbol of what the Tatra Mountains can offer – a wide variety of options, while still being very accessible. This mountain range is a good place for a quick getaway, but with enough routes in a few valleys to spend weeks just climbing. Or, even longer, if you can’t sleep at night in the mountains because of hunt- ing for Perseids or Eta Aquariids with your camera (I happen to suffer from this kind of insomnia).

66 The winter shade of Mnich (the Monk). All the beauty and dignity a rock sculpture can have.

67

Mountain rescue team training. The helicopter was fully booked so we had to rappel down. Photo, Walter Latusek 68

Top - One of several night acclimatization climbs. Photo, Thomas Becker Bottom - Daniel Wehrly looking out over the nearby peak of Pumari. Photo, Thomas Becker The Year That Everest Broke?

By Thomas Becker

et the fuck out of the way,” shouted an irritated climber. The Gline of people behind us had grown to over 20, and we were mov- ing at a dangerously slow pace. In front of me, a woman in a blue and yellow down suit kept collapsing as we made our way up Everest’s Southeast Ridge. I had caught her several times already, and now she was struggling to climb the exposed rocks along the ridge. We were at 28,000 feet. It was clear she needed to go back down.

I tried speaking to the woman to see if she was okay and to sug- gest turning around. She did not seem to understand me, perhaps be- cause of language barriers, altitude sickness, or the roaring winds on the mountain. As the bottleneck behind us grew, more climbers began yelling at her. She became visibly nervous. For the next hour, I tried to help her by placing her feet on footholds and hoisting her up the fixed line along the exposed ridge. I never imagined climbing Everest like this.

Eventually, the slabs leveled out enough that the people behind us could pass. My climbing partner Dan and I decided to continue as- cending with her until we could reach her Sherpa guide ahead. We had already seen four or five bodies on the way up, so we were concerned about leaving her alone.

When we got to the South Summit, the woman plunged into the snow to rest. Fortunately, her Sherpa guide was there and gave her water. I felt relieved. Even though we were only 500 feet from the top of the mountain, I hoped that he could convince her to turn around.

Dan and I continued towards the peak, which was about an hour away. Just below the Hillary Step, one of the mountain’s most iconic features, we came across a person who had been hanging from a fixed rope since the previous day. Some seemed to casually pass him. I was distracted as I climbed the Hillary Step, thinking about him and his family.

At roughly 10:30 a.m., Dan and I reached the summit. It was excit-

69 ing to be on top of a mountain that I had read about since childhood, but it was hard to celebrate after witnessing the mess Everest had become. I thought about the American I saw the previous day yelling at a Sherpa, “I didn’t pay you Baht for your advice. I paid you to help get me up the mountain.” Apparently, the entitled climber was unaware that Baht is the currency in Thailand, not Nepal. I reflect- ed on the dozens of inexperi- enced climbers who stumbled their way up the mountain, endangering themselves and Thomas Becker taking a rest day at base others, particularly Sherpas. camp I thought about the overly- ambitious climbers who would do just about anything to get to the summit, including those who stole our oxygen tanks at Camp 4, in the death zone, forcing Dan and me to summit virtually without supple- mental oxygen (I did use a small amount of oxygen from a tank that I carried from Camp 3 for 10 minutes before it malfunctioned).

After 30 minutes on the top of the world, Dan and I decided to re- turn to Camp 4. Clouds began moving in, and I started to feel the onset of snow blindness, so we quickly descended the same narrow path we took to the summit. As we navigated the knife’s edge of the Cornice Traverse, I saw the woman in the blue and yellow suit and her guide approaching us. I could not believe it. She was attempting to go to the summit, and at 30 minutes away, she might actually make it. She ap- peared to have more energy than she did lower on the mountain, but I was worried since most die on the descent.

It turns out she did reach the summit at roughly 1 p.m. Unfortunate- ly, on the way down, she stopped breathing just above the Balcony. Apparently, her guide had tried to convince her to turn around, but she refused. She was one of at least 11 that died in less than two weeks, making this one of the deadliest seasons ever on Everest.

70 Passing through the Western Cwm.

After professional climber Nirmal Purja posted a startling photo of hordes of climbers lined up to reach the summit that went viral, the media declared that 2019 was the year that Everest broke. My own ex- perience on summit day certainly reinforced their point, but the prob- lems on the mountain started long before this year.

Headlines blamed overcrowding for the queues and deaths on the mountain. While capacity certainly was a problem on Everest, the Nepalese government issued 381 permits for climbers in 2019, which was only 35 more than in 2018 and eight more than in 2017. The pri- mary reason for the gridlock, however, was the inexperience of climb- ers. People who had never been in an environment like Everest did not know how to efficiently climb, take care of themselves, or commu- nicate with other climbers. Ego and ignorance lured to the mountain people that simply should not have been there. This was compounded by a season of bad weather that severely limited the summit window, with most climbers attempting the summit on two days: May 22-23.

Before heading to Everest, I had mixed feelings about climbing the mountain that were only reinforced after spending two months there. On the one hand, it was a dream to weave my way through the Khum-

71 72

Thomas Becker rappelling on his way back to base camp. 73

Top - Climbers take turns crossing ladders in the Khumbu Icefall. Bottom - Daniel Wehrly and Thomas Becker on the summit of Everest. Thomas Becker on the two-week hike to Everest.

bu Ice Fall’s labyrinth, camp below the Lhotse face, and scramble up the Hillary Step. On the other hand, the colonialist approach of many climbers who set out to “conquer” Everest, particularly at the expense of others, is drastically different than what draws me to mountains. Climbing has always been something very personal for me. In fact, I had planned on not telling anyone if I made it to the summit, as I have done on other mountains. This strategy was undermined after an enthusiastic family member blasted my climb all over her social me- dia, but it has given me an opportunity to share my experience on the mountain and raise some of the issues that climbers and the mountain face. I do not believe the headlines that Everest is broken, but there is a lot to work on to make climbing on the mountain safer for all climbers and more sustainable for the mountain and the Sherpa community.

74 Tribute to Mark Herzog

AUG 22, 1992 – JAN 27, 2020

Pause. Loosen the grip Breathe, relax into the moves Smile, climb on with joy

― Mark Herzog

75 Welcome

ark and I became fast friends at Harvard Medical School in Mfall 2015 after someone introduced us to each other during orien- tation, likely after we had separately talked their ear off about climb- ing. It always feels like a great gift from the universe when you find a buddy in an academic program who also clicks with your personal aspirations beyond the classroom. We immediately struck up a rou- tine of training together in the medical school dormitory gym’s tiny basement climbing room (to call it a gym would be too generous). It was approximately 20 by 20 feet, and it was clear that the holds per- haps had never seen the cleansing spray of a power washer or been re-arranged on the walls in a few years. They were slippery and grimy. On my own, I quickly would have tired of the space, but with Mark’s energy, positivity, and excellent self-discipline, this space be- came our haven for climbing training our first year. As we gallivanted round and round the walls, we chatted not only about climbing, but just about any topic under the sun, as Mark’s curiously was bound- less. His ability to transform this grungy climbing gym into a first-rate training space is also a larger metaphor for Mark’s power and energy to transfer the daunting and seemingly impossible into the feasible, and to change minds along the way. In compiling this series of stories and reflections, I was struck by how deep and varied Mark’s climbing community was, extending from his high school days at Episcopal to Duke to Harvard to the many friends of friends made along the way, through listservs and serendipitous encounters. In Boston, I introduced him to many of my climbing partners from my undergraduate time at Dartmouth, and I was struck by how quickly he was off on far-flung trips with them, while still maintaining close relationships with dear friends from high school and college who lived in different parts of the country. And while it hardly seemed that Mark could have more hours in the day, given the time-intensity of his climbing trips, climbing was only a slice of his outdoors life and of his community. He was also an avid hiker, runner, fisherman, birder, biker, kayaker, and swimmer, as well as a poet, medical student, advocate for marginalized communities, health policy researcher, and inquisitive thinker. Most importantly, he was a deeply committed friend to many, a partner, brother, uncle, and son.

76 Because Mark meant so much to many different people and com- munities, it often feels a daunting task to paint his essence in words. What I hold dear is the remembrance of his goofy, toothy, full-throttle laugh and his slightly rib-crushing bear hugs. To me, these represent the boundless energy with which he approached life and all his pur- suits, as well as the joy and love he had for all living creatures—wheth- er a friend, old or new, his nephews, or the singing robin he spotted on a run in the woods. In Mark’s absence, it falls upon all of us to shine brighter, listen closer, hug tighter, and strive that much harder to love those around us, whether stranger or known, to create the kind of world Mark worked towards with great intention, every day. As Tyler Rohr puts so aptly in his reflection, “I hope I see his smile in my memory and remember doing the right thing is worth it.”

- Anna Morenz Seattle, WA April 25, 2020

77 Liz Strong Boulder, CO

uring a week-long climbing trip to Bishop, California last May, Mark and I kept crossing paths with a couple. The Germans, Dwe called them, assuming but not knowing for sure that was the lan- guage they spoke. We first saw them climbing at the Owens River Gorge. Later that night, they rolled up to the same remote camping spot along the side of a dirt road. A couple of days later, we ran into each other climbing in Pine Creek Canyon. These encounters made for a study in opposites. Whereas we were struggling on some of the easier climbs, they were sending some of the hardest climbs. While they seemed to have their van living situation dialed, Mark and I were camping together for the first time, and we were still figuring out all aspects of this. Our inexperience was made particularly clear one evening during a rainstorm. As they retreated into their van, we scampered around looking for our tent fly, getting soaked. After the rain subsided, the Germans started cooking. Savory odors wafted over from their campsite. Meanwhile, I accidentally used the Gatorade that Mark had just made instead of water to prepare the sauce for our box of mac and cheese. Although we never did speak to the Germans, we did ultimately connect with them. The last time we saw them, we were in our car pulled over on the side of the road leading away from where we’d been climbing. I don’t recall why we’d stopped, but I do remember that an old Jack Johnson album was playing, and that Mark and I were both in that restful stupor that comes only after having spent a long day in the sun. We saw them approaching in the rearview mirror. They slowed as they passed us, waving and laughing. We agreed—it was funny to see them again. And finally! The Germans recognized us! Un- til that moment, it hadn’t been clear that they had ever actually noticed us. Now it was apparent they had. Our happy narrative was shaken later that night, though, when we came to realize that maybe the Germans hadn’t actually been waving at us because they recognized us. Instead, they might have been wav- ing at us as a way to alert us to the potentially embarrassing scene they were observing. The day before, Mark and I had swum at a hot spring, and some of my clothes were still wet. Mark had hung my bra from the car handle to dry. He’d forgotten about it, and neither of us had noticed it was still there. A bra flapping from the side of a car pulled off the road was good cause for anybody to wave!

78 Photo, Liz Strong

This story reminded me of what drew me to Mark. He was selfless and looked out for those he cared about in a way that was more a reflex than a conscious act. He’d anticipate some need, and be right there to help, by making Gatorade for my dehydration, or drying my clothes ahead of a day of travel. And if things didn’t go to plan, he’d throw his head back in laughter, savoring the ridiculous nature of whatever had happened. I’d be lying to myself to think that the Germans were waving to us to bid a final farewell, enjoying one latest run-in before moving on to a new climbing area. Even so, I’d like to think that when the Germans look back on that climbing trip of theirs, they remember that young disheveled couple, falling head over heels in love.

79 Will Laikos Long Island, NY

remember the first time that Mark and I went climbing togeth- er outside. We had been climbing inside at the Duke Univer- Isity climbing wall in Wilson Gym intermittently for almost a year since the start of school before we went outside. My roommate, Patrick Hunnicutt, worked as a climbing wall instructor in high school and introduced us to the discipline when we started col- lege together. There was a Duke Outdoor Adventures trip head- ing to the epic New River Gorge near Summerville, WV and we decided we would head in the same direction but separate from the trip. Once we got there, I remember some cold camping along with Mark toproping a few single pitch sport routes. The most memorable part of the climbing was our friend Kipp climbing a 5.12 in Narcissus Cave with a super steep start and a sketchy, hard second clip at the crux. It was an interesting start to our climb- ing careers together. Otherwise, we tried some fun routes with permadraws in the classic area of the Coliseum like Apollo Reed (5.13) though they were way above our level at the time. Mark even tried some bouldering (at Patrick’s strong urging, of course)! The other most memorable part of the trip was on the way back home from West Virginia to Durham, NC, I had brought a water bottle of liquor with me to keep us warm at night around our campfires but we didn’t drink it at all, deciding that beer would be fine. So when Mark realized this as we were getting in the car to start the drive home, he decided we shouldn’t have an open container and instead drink it all now. He proceeded to chug way too much of it, and then we poured the rest out as no one felt similarly that we needed to finish it. On the way back, we were crammed like sardines in a tiny sedan full of bouldering crash pads with Mark and I in the backseat. I had the lovely experience of being sober in close proximity to an extremely drunk person without any form of escape for more than five hours. All Mark would talk about was trying to find an Arby’s and making sure that we get gas in Virgina as it was cheaper than if we got it in NC. At some point, I had to stack the crash pads be- tween us to keep from hitting him. Eventually he fell asleep and things returned to a more peaceful state.

80 Mark tries bouldering outside near the NRG with Patty spotting him. I don’t think he liked it very much and tried to avoid it in the future, preferring to use ropes and get high (altitude-wise!). We continued to climb at the Duke indoor wall and outside as we could with busy, intense college schedules. We took sev- eral trips here and there to primarily North Carolina climbing ar- eas, including Linville Gorge after we learned how to trad climb. Mark took a Single Pitch Instructor (SPI) course at some point in the summer during college. Though he didn’t complete the test to become an actual guide, he gained a lot of important knowl- edge that contributed to his development as a climber. The most memorable trad climbing trip in NC was of course the first where we got into some trouble due to getting lost mid-route on the mul- tipitch route White Lightning (5.8+). My most vivid image is be- laying Mark on what was supposed to be pitch 2 from a tiny ledge as my butt was going numb in the cold and lack of seating area. All of the sudden, some dark blobs fell past my face from above. I was worried Mark was dropping gear at first, but then I realized we were so off route that he was throwing clods of dirt and grass down from where he was bushwhacking. These asteroids continued to fall as we probably made some sort of terrible FA. Eventually, we went back and completed the actual route, which was a lot more fun. After graduation in 2015,

81 Top left - Mark anchored at the top while I ran to take a photo on Shark’s Fin at Alabama Hills, one of the more notable climbs there. Mediocre rock but top rate views and scenery, which is why many movies have been shot here. Top right - Mark and I at Cochise Stronghold on a sunny day in Dec 2017. We walked off this climb to encounter a beautiful wild horse at sunset. Bottom - Mark at the top of Half Dome at sunrise after we hiked up, Yosemite Valley in the background. He would later go back to climb Snake Dike with Kevin Shenk to the top, one of the sketchier climbs in Yosemite but still a classic.

82 Top left - Mark bundled up in his bivy sac at the base of Levitation 29 (don’t tell anyone that we stayed in the canyons!) before we climbed it the next morning. It’s such a heinous approach and the days were so short that we decided to just stay the night up. Top right - Mark and I at the top of one of the long climbs in Red Rock (maybe Eagle Dance?).83 He was such a confident and ambitious climber who never wanted our days there (or the trips) to end. Our “rest days” still involved huge hikes/runs or easier climbs. Bottom - Mark rappelling down to start a beautiful climb at Otter Cliffs in Acadia National Park, Maine. Labor Day, 2017. I moved to New Mexico and Mark went to Boston, but we met up every winter break and several other times to climb. I believe we climbed at Red Rock near Las Vegas on four or five separate trips, spending at least two months there total, with side jaunts to Joshua Tree when it rained a little too much on the sandstone. This is really where we got much better at climbing and started to do the longer routes that Mark loved deeply for their exposure, continuity, freedom, and beauty. Routes like Inti Watana, Levi- tation 29, and Risky Business are why we kept returning, along with the relatively good weather during the winter months. One story about climbing in Red Rock that I will never forget is when we went to climb Armatron in one of the canyons. We left while it was still dark and were the first car at the trailhead parking area. After about 45 minutes hiking on the long approach, we were surprised to hear footsteps coming up behind us. A woman and man came up quickly and passed us, with Mark and I looking at each other in excitement as we recognized them as Alex Honnold and Sanni McCandless. Eventually they stopped for water and we caught up them, snagging a picture and talking for a little while about North Carolina (where Sanni went to school) and where they were planning on climbing. It turns out later this was hap- pening in the midst of Alex taking a break from trying to solo El Cap as you can see in his movie, Free Solo. Regardless, it was an amazing fangirl experience and I was so inspired to try the rest of the day despite the fact it was substantially below freezing and I couldn’t feel my hands while climbing. Other trips here and there were also amazing. Many trips to the Gunks, Thatcher State Park, NH, Maine, and elsewhere on the East Coast allowed us to stay connected and continue climbing while we were in school. I had the chance to meet Mark’s climbing friends from Boston area and vice versa. We also had the chance to make several trips to other areas out West to try harder things together, including trips to New Mexico, Cochise Stronghold, Mt Lemmon, St. George and Zion NP, the Wind River Range, and the Tetons. Mark made several more trips, too, and was climbing hard stuff. The Wyoming trip deserves mention as the trip of a lifetime. We set out from NM and drove up to the Wind River Range in the summer of 2018, stopping along the way for runs in Leadville and elsewhere. We packed up our gear and set out to climb Pingora Peak, one of the 50 Classic Climbs of North America.

84 Despite the fact that it was June, we hiked through feet of snow and camped out in the spectacular Cirque of the Towers the night before we headed up. It was a spectacular experience with ultra- classic climbing that we had completely to ourselves due to the early nature of the season. The next climb we did was the Grand Teton. We hiked up about 7 miles, passing several bears along the way, and spent the night just below the snowline. After getting up at 1am, we hiked through the early morning in the dark in the snow with crampons, and reached the base around 8am. We proceeded to have a beautiful climb until we saw clouds in the distance. Eventually, we had to climb through a snowstorm in the summer with some scary lightning at times and freezing cold wind tunnels for belay stations , but we made it to the top and an incredibly unrewarding view with 5 foot visibility due to fog. De- spite all this, it was certainly type 2 fun with much celebration af- terwards and the entire thing making for a trip I will never forget both because I was so scared at times but also due to how much fun it seemed looking back from a warm car at the trailhead. Reflecting on Mark as a climber in general, I would describe him as optimistic, ambitious, and confident. He had always been an incredible athlete, whether it was wrestling, golf, running, bik- ing, triathlon, or soccer and so he was frustrated on the rare occa- sion when he was stalled by a climb he thought he should be able to do. As my roommate Patty says, “he’s had a six pack since he was 12” which is only sort of a joke. There were times when I had to encourage him to run it out a little more and that he was un- derstating his ability, so I don’t want to characterize him as reck- less by any means. He would always go through accident reports in the climbing magazines and send me descriptions of various equipment failures with the reasons that they occurred and how to prevent them in the future. He took multiple safety courses and was always looking to learn new tricks from guides that we en- countered on our trips. More often than not, he was admonishing me for stretching our risk tolerance a little too much in the form of less than perfect anchors or marginal placements. Of course, he was also just an incredibly competent person in everything that he did. Whether it was treating patients or health policy quality metric development or climbing techniques, he was generally the best when he put his mind to something and always inspired me to approach areas of my life with the same attitude. We will all miss you Mark!

85 Garrett Harmsen Park City, UT

October 2011 - Pilot Mountain, NC he first time I met Mark was first semester Freshman year climbing at Pilot. We were both new to the game, and I was Timmediately drawn to Mark for his infectious stoke - he always wanted to do more - more routes, learn more skills, and help more people. My climbing crew was my family those first years of col- lege, and Mark was the cool older brother - projecting an air of responsibility, yet still pushing his and our limits. January 2015 - Looking Glass, NC Senior year at Duke. While I had become a bit disillusioned (lazy?) with the “traditional concept of success” and was spend- ing more and more time at the crags than in class, Mark was push- ing full steam ahead - stoked about Med school and rural health. That didn’t stop him from still climbing harder than me and being super motivated to get after it when the weather was good. One weekend, we headed out to Looking Glass rock. After a full two days of climbing, I jokingly suggested that we should hop on the classic 5 pitch “Titties and Beer” starting around 2:30pm. Mark obviously thought I was serious, and managed to convince me that it was a. “A good idea”, b. “We’d have plenty of time”, and c. I should lead the crux since it was at my limit and would be a good challenge. Three pitches up, Mark was following the crux pitch, and sud- denly I felt the rope stop moving. My ego was pumped - had I sent something that Mark was struggling to follow? Sadly, no - the rope Mark was trailing had gotten stuck, pulling him backward. Yanking to no avail, we had to abandon the rope. It was January, getting dark, we only had one headlamp, and were now without means to rappel the standard 5 pitch route. Our only option off was up an additional rarely climbed 5 pitches through licheny slab dashed with thorn bushes. On my leads, I cursed the runouts, thorn bush cuts, and lack of dinner in my stomach. On Mark’s, he kept saying how awesome it was to be up there, and how cool of a position we were in. Summiting around 10pm, we then, in Mark’s words, “got to get a trail run in!” taking the 6 mile walk(run)off

86 Photos, Garrett Harmsen down the opposite side of the dome and back around to the car, with an extra 2 miles to go retrieve our abandoned/stuck rope. Back at the car around midnight, we drove 4 hours back to Dur- ham, fueling up with a 2am cookout stop for a short night’s nap and another Monday of classes for Mark. In retrospect, I think Mark might have intentionally dropped the rope. Type 2 fun for most was Type 1 for Mark.

July 2018 - Sawtooths, Idaho The last time I climbed with Mark, he was in the midst of a summer alpine climbing rampage through the west. The trip started out on an interesting note when Mark failed to show up in Salt Lake Friday afternoon as we had planned. I got a call a few hours later, saying not to worry, and that he was on top of the Grand Teton after bivvying in a freak July snowstorm. He might have gotten a few hours of sleep that night before meeting me the next morning at a gas station in rural Idaho. After filling up, we wandered into a thrift/antique shop next door, and promptly discovered a rattlesnake slithering around the store. As the owner was terrified of snakes, Mark volunteered

87 to try to catch it. Armed with a motley assortment of mops, buck- ets, and sticks, we spent the next hour crawling around dusty antiques, searching for the snake and attempting to corral it. Un- fortunately, the snake disappeared, and we had to pull Mark out of there and continue our drive. It might have been the only time Mark has ever given up. A few hours later, we were hauling heavy loads into the wil- derness, approaching the Elephant’s Perch in the Sawtooths. We arrived at dusk, set up camp, and then woke up early the next day to a surreal sunrise and perhaps my best day climbing ever on the Direct Beckey. While technically swapping leads, Mark effectively rope gunned me up the 12 pitches of splitter golden granite, sending while ripping skin off his fingers and shouting encouragement as I whipped an original Fred Beckey piton out of the wall. Topping out as the sky turned golden, overlooking beautiful alpine lakes and snowcapped peaks, was a cap on one of the most amazing days of my life, and what must have been a wild 48 hours for Mark.

Photos, Garrett Harmsen

88 May 2019 - Mammoth, CA Since my last trip to Yosemite with Mark in October 2017, we had been scheming on trying to climb El Cap. This May, it was going to happen. Mark and Liz were out in Bishop climbing, and my buddy Jake and I had been skiing in the Mammoth area. The next week, we planned to head to Yosemite and go up on the wall. While Mark could almost certainly have done the Nose in a day, or put up a fast time on another route, he was psyched to do it the “slow way” with Jake and I - hauling a ledge, hanging out, and generally having a good time over 4 days. We met up in a friend’s condo in Mammoth. After catching up, we got to the inevitable - there was a heinous weather forecast for the valley in the coming week. We had been scouring the web, looking for bright points in the sea of negative forecasts and social media posts of pro climb- ers bailing. The conversation went a little like: Garrett/Jake: “There’s a 70% of rain and thunderstorms ev- ery day, I don’t want to be drenched and cold 2000ft off the ground” Mark: “That means there’s a 30% chance we’ll be fine, let’s do it!” Garrett/Jake: “We’re soft, we’re going to bail” We ended up not heading to Yosemite, and made plans to come back this year with better weather. It was the last time I saw Mark. Mark always saw the glass as half full, and had more stoke and motivation than the rest of my friends combined. His attitude was infectious, and even though he’s gone, all of us that knew him will think more positively, act a bit kinder, and dream a whole lot bigger because of Mark.

89 90

Photo, Garrett Harmsen Mike Swartz Boston, MA

always found it difficult to be as good a friend to Mark as he was to me. A slight reprieve from the pain of Mark’s death for Ime has been connecting with the community of Mark’s loved ones, and it’s been wonderful and somewhat mind-boggling to hear how many people felt similarly. One time Mark had returned to Boston from a long trip and asked about catching up. I suggested the climbing gym, our typical hangout spot if we couldn’t get away to outdoor climbing. Mark ran across the Charles and Cambridge to meet me in Somerville, hang out for a bit on the mats at the climbing gym, only to run back shortly after to get some sleep before whatever early morn- ing commitments he had. The whole time he was there he wanted to hear about my day-to-day life, and I realized as he was leaving I’d barely heard a word about his travels. He would always carve out time to spend with people, and then be so extremely present and attentive, that it was hard to remember that his schedule was far busier than mine. And again, as I’ve learned, the friends in our group of climbers were just a few of the many folks with whom he maintained that type of relationship. Oddly enough as I look back on my time with Mark, very few of the memories that stick out are actually climbing (though most sur- round it somehow). Maybe that’s because he preferred to wander away to climb challenging (or obscure), seldom-traveled routes, while I lined up with the crowds to get on the classics. But I think more likely it was simply that his presence was so strong on the ground, when he could direct his whole attention to those around him. I remember coming down off a long, tiring climb late at night to find that he and other friends had left us a delicious dinner. I re- member Mark’s face when he came back to our AirBnB on a climb- ing trip, ecstatic about the test he had just taken – not only because he knew he’d aced it, but because “it was just a really good test.” I remember the way he would tilt his head back a bit and almost close his eyes when he was trying to explain something about the state of medical policy. I remember singing along to the Les Mis soundtrack at the top of our lungs as we drove back from Rumney, eating peanut butter and apples. I remember being struck repeat- edly by his gratitude, his thoughtfulness, and his kindness. I remember a really good friend, and I’m grateful for our brief time together.

91 Tyler Rohr Tasmania

f course I’ll remember climbing with Mark. The summer of 2017 in particular. We went on a tear of moderate to not so Omoderate North East classics in preparation for a trip to the valley we were both taking the fall. Carbs, Zonkers, Lab Wall, the Prow, and many more will stick with me for a long time. But the main thing I’ll remember about Mark was how he made you want to be a better person. Not by comparison or out of obligation but because it was so obvious how happy it made him. Watching him move gracefully through this world, there was no self righteousness, there was only joy. It wasn’t just the infinite smile he held when he talked about medicine, nature and public health. He also did little things like come back from a three hour exam in the middle of a climbing trip with the sort of giant grin only Mark could muster because it was “just such a good test”. Or he’d let loose a cunning little giggle when he convinced the staff at the Brooklyn Boulders to let him stash some peanut butter behind the desk to help him eat healthy and save money at the same time. Or how every climbing trip he’d show up overflowing with stoke on time, every time, no matter how far he had to bike or what gear he had to shlep on his back. It would all see seem impossible if it wasn’t so sincere. It isn’t easy to be kind and compassionate all the time. It can’t be. And yet it looked so natural for him. I doubt it was. I think he put in the work. He’d do that. I think that through determination and patient devotion he trained a wild kindness. Something that, by the time I knew him, had consumed him whole. Something that by then was instinct. In the future, when life feels isolating, I hope that I think of Mark and remember the joy that simple care can bring. I hope I see his smile in my memory and remember doing the right thing is worth it.

92 Lauren Onofrey Seattle, WA

n summer mornings in Boston, a delicate red-gold light laps at the skyscrapers, the bridges, and then the forest- Oflanked open road. The possibility of sixteen hours of daylight lie ahead of you as you make the pilgrimage to New Hampshire. On one such radiant morning, my fellow pilgrim was the then- complete-stranger, Mark Herzog. The strangeness evaporated quickly. Mark lacked the ironic distance of Cantabridgian hyper-academic culture, which was disarming. He conveyed such a strong connection to his roots that you were invited to recall your own. He spoke so openly about his dreams that you had to remember what yours had been and where you had buried them so many years ago when you had decided to chase prestige. By the end of the day, you would find your idealism resuscitated, staring at you doe-eyed, expectant, and trusting. For today, our objective was Moonshadow, a handful of con- trived approach pitches culminating in a sustained 200’ lie-back up the center of the formidable Cannon Cliff. With variable suc- cess, I traced a faint trail through trees and then boulders and tried to prevent Mark from scampering excitedly in the general direction of “up” and losing the easier ground of the designated path. Hours of car + trail approach into the day, we started enthu- siastically up the approach pitches and promptly got lost. Mark dispatched a ready laugh, squinted upward, read the rock, got us back on track. The hard pitches intimidated me, and so Mark led them with his characteristic alacrity and stoke. He climbed with confidence, young and strong and free, a master with his instrument. Watching him gave the impression that jamming fin- gers and fists in too-narrow or too-wide cracks was a sensuous pleasure. We arced upward, tracing a beautiful, aesthetic line that demanded sustained moves over challenging terrain. By early af- ternoon, we had topped out the good climbing, found a welcom- ing ledge, and feasted on the snacks. Backs against solid gran- ite, we surveyed the valley contentedly. A pair of Mark’s many

93 friends climbed up behind us; we tossed them a rope when they ran out of gear and belayed them up. (Mark let this antic go with only a gentle ribbing, but let the record show that involvement of another party is an automatic G3 out of a possible 5 on the Gong Show Scale.) We rapped the route, and then New England’s favorite splitter caught Mark’s eye. The Saturday crowds at the base of Cannon had thinned as we had worked our line, and so Reppy’s Crack beaconed us over for a few victory laps before reversing our tracks and gunning it back to Brookline. We didn’t quite have the gear for it, but Mark had more than enough stoke. We played on the line and the adjacent face for the next few hours. At day’s end, the light again turned golden, inviting a few lines of poetry: “Giddy with sacrament and the impure gluttony of blood and air and skin, we look with panoramic eyes until the earth curls under and the sky begins, though we our- selves are of this light-shot air.”

94 Kurt Hager Boston, MA

ark would joke with me that we met on a blind date. Spe- cifically, it was climbing meet-up arranged by HMS alum, MAnna Morenz. Still being new to Boston, I reached out to a short list of climbing partners one August weekend. After getting no hits from the few people I knew, Anna connected me with Mark. Mark suggested we climb on Cannon Cliff in New Hampshire in Franconia Notch (a beautiful place that he loved) and having never been there, I somewhat hesitantly agreed. I’ve climbed just long enough where I’m now quite picky about partners so I was initially apprehensive, but I immediately absorbed an inquisitive kindness and an adventurous ambition from Mark that I seldom find in others. I later realized Mark had selected this climb assuming I would lead him up it, but the style of the climb was novel and intimi- dating to me, and I backed off halfway up. I was embarrassed. However, with that large grin on his face that we all loved, Mark made it clear it was no big deal and I felt strong comfort in his presence. The rest of the day we shifted our focus to several easier routes, ended up hiking down in the dark with headlamps full of laughter, arrived back in Boston past midnight before an early work day, and already had plans to meet up again the following weekend. Spontaneous adventures with Mark brought such joy and calm to my own life. Mark was a remarkable athlete, a bold climber too with impressive mental control. He carried a profound humility, I always felt safe with him, and I never saw him as reckless. Yet climbing has also become deeply complicated and confusing for me, as I’m sure it is for many of us here: it’s why we are tragi- cally brought here together today, yet it also gave Mark so much rejuvenation in his life and allowed him to meet many lifelong friends, including his loving partner Liz. While Mark and I would later go on many New England week- end adventures together, our friendship quickly evolved into all aspects of our lives. I am also studying health policy, and Mark immediately supported me in ways perhaps no other

95 mentor or friend has done. Mark workshopped new ideas with me, challenged me on others, often validating concerns I had while encouraging me to dive into new opportunities, like apply- ing to PhD programs, publishing op-eds, getting involved in state politics or applying for seemingly outlandish grants (all of which I may not have done without his encouragement). Our 3-hour drives to the upstate New York or New Hampshire flew by as we dove deep into health care policy, discussed his latest proj- ects and ambitions, and hit all the real-life challenges and joys we were working through with family, friends, work and our early careers. Soon Mark was biking across town on random weekday nights, just so he could share some ice cream with my partner Sheila and dive into her life developments too, even though I’m sure it meant he had to stay up late reading for class the next day. I wanted to share these small stories as they speak to some- thing we all have seen Mark: true belief in the best of the people around him, even if we don’t always see it ourselves. Add to this a fierce moral courage, endless intellect, gentle kindness and giddy laughter, and you have one of the greatest souls imaginable. The last time Sheila and I saw Mark was shortly after his resi- dency interviews and prior to spending time with family for the holidays. My family was in town and Mark really wanted to meet them, and the only time that overlapped with our schedules was while we were at The Museum of Fines Arts. Yet he dropped what he was doing and ran over to the museum in that moment to spend some time with them. Mark always made time for people in his life, something I really do hope I can improve in my life to honor him, and not use a “busy schedule” as an excuse to forego what matters most. A few days later we talked with Mark late into night over some whiskey and ice cream, working through the momentous decision of how to rank his residency programs. I’m still not sure what he was eventually leaning towards, but I do know the decision was all consuming for him. What was clear however, is that the deci- sions Mark had in front of him were offered to a select few incred- ibly bright and talented people with highly impactful futures. Although short, the time I had with Mark will forever be one of the greatest blessings of my life. His loss as friend is compound-

96 During a climbing trip in NH, after Mark helped a family recharge their iPhones, a grateful parent snapped this photo. ed by the loss for all his community who saw so clearly how the world was going to be better through his unmatched dedication to the vulnerable and sick, in particular in the overlooked ru- ral places of our country. The world was also better for us, his friends, who had someone who listened to us, cared deeply for us, and inspired us to be the better version of ourselves through his humility, ambition, curiosity, and laughter.

Kurt’s remarks were also delivered at the Harvard Medical School Memorial Service on March 5, 2020.

97 Parting Thoughts on Risk & Joy in Climbing

ark should have lived to take care of many, many patients, to rebuild a broken healthcare system in rural areas and in Amer- Mica at large, to tirelessly advocate for justice and health equity, to teach and play with his children and grandchildren, to love and be loved. He is the fourth friend that I have lost to outdoor recreation – three to climbing accidents and one to skiing. These losses make me feel older than my 29 years of age and complicate my own relationship with out- door pursuits. I cherish time in the wilderness, but I am also angry at it for coldly cutting short young, promising, and beloved lives. I know that this moralizes nature, a place in which life and death are constant- ly in unemotional balance, thriving and surviving giving way to decay and tragedy in an unending cycle. When my friend died in a skiing accident in 2017, I happened upon an episode of The Alpinist podcast in which David Roberts reads his essay, “Death and Climbing,” originally published in 2016. He recalls, after 50-plus years of climbing and now facing a cancer diagnosis, the long list of friends and acquaintances lost to the mountains and re- considers his opinion on the risk being worth it, which he published years before in his essay “Moments of Doubt.” He writes, “In their rage against the mundane and mediocre, climbers glo- rify the extreme, breathing in slogans such as ‘go big’ or ‘send the gnar.’ The razor thin escape wins laurels, not the judicious retreat… The dream of transcendence that I chased as Icarus chased the sun proved to be, in the end, a romantic delusion. Not only does that dream have no room for the grief of those left be- hind—it has not patience for the lingering attrition of old age.” Roberts’s words haunted me for days, and I immediately shared this podcast with several of my closest friends, including Mark. What should we do with Roberts’s steady words? Quitting the pursuits that give us joy, community, and lifeblood doesn’t seem like the answer. But I wonder if, as a community, we can shift our culture in small ways to glorify the judicious retreat and to dampen the eager admiration of “epics” at the end of the day around the campfire. I do not intend to imply that Mark’s death was the result of undue risk-taking or could have been prevented. As all these stories describe, he relished big objectives, which increases any climber’s exposure to

98 risk over time, but I felt confident in his skills and competence when climbing with him. The nature of climbing is such that all of us assume risk when we rope up and ascend—and that unfortunately, the conse- quences of one slip-up or improbably ill-fated incident—can too often be fatal, in contrast to recreation kept closer to the ground. However, I wonder if to blame each death in climbing on the freak- ish, one-in-a-million bad luck of a rock broken, carabiner snapped, or rope cut is to absolve ourselves of culpability as a community. Per- haps it is the only way we are able to tie in again and place skin on rock, to continue loving a sport that both gives and takes so much from us. Mark was such a rigorous, dedicated conversationalist that I find myself yearning to discuss this deeply with him. Even though I know clear answers are an illusion, I believe Mark would want us to have these hard conversations with each other and to challenge ourselves and each other to “stay safe” in a way that pays more than lip-service to the catch-phrase now imbued with the sacrifices of the coronavirus pandemic. Do the energies of individual epics and accolades run coun- ter to the well-being of our community? If so, how should we evolve? Perhaps it starts with the stories we tell and the way we tell them. Let us be unafraid, like Mark, to question and to re-imagine. ― Anna Morenz

99 Favorite Poems

Wild Geese You do not have to be good. You do not have a to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. you only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. whoever you are, no matter how lonely, The world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exiting – over and over announcing your place in the family of things. ― Mary Oliver

I said: what about my eyes? He said: Keep them on the road. I said: What about my passion? He said: Keep it burning. I said: What about my heart? He said: Tell me what you hold inside it? I said: Pain and sorrow. He said: Stay with it. The wound is the place where the Light enters you. ― Rumi

100 Tribute to Janette Heung

Photo, Kevin Ziechmann

MAY 26, 1985 – SEP 5, 2020

101 Janette’s Family

n the days leading up to September 5th, 2020 Janette Heung and three climbing partners ascended and summited Pingora Peak, one Iof the tallest pinnacles (reaching an 11,000 ft elevation) that forms the Cirque of Towers of the Wind River Range in Wyoming. Months ago, Janette had reached out to her climbing community where camarade- rie was easily found in the thrill of a new and challenging mountain range. An anticipated six-day adventure was born. Tragically, it was in the descent down the mountain that led to her passing; and while we mourn the loss of life, her spirit and dedication to nature’s beauty, adventure and community will always be remembered. Janette as a child could not be described as anything but brilliant; and as for the life she lived, nothing less than extraordinary. Janette was born on May 26, 1985 in San Francisco, daughter of Philip Heung and Joanna Ng. Her mom noticed that even at the young age of four, Janette showed the earliest signs of her relentless dedication. She prac- ticed violin furiously and quickly reached a performance level by age 15. It was her tenacity and commitment to academic excellence that she independently applied to and attended Phillips Exeter Academy and then went on to pursue a degree in physics and biomedical engineer- ing at Tufts University. She was involved in health research and initi- ated as well as led several university organizations to promote student entrepreneurship and civic engagement. But beyond her academic accolades, it was a two-month trip in Alaska with Outward Bound after her graduation that would lay a seed for a love of the outdoors and her future work in environmen- tal conservation. She eventually earned her Master of Science at the Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health in Environmental Health and continued to work in New England and Washington D.C. before moving to Colorado. In Colorado she championed environmental and nature conservancy both in her career and community organizing. She brought individuals from each of her spheres (Unleashed, Nature Con- servancy’s Young Professionals Advisory Council, Rocky Mountain Harvard University Club Steering Committee) for the cause of protect- ing the environment and the health of all people. While Janette was dedicated to the promotion of the outdoors, she personally loved adventure. She scattered climbing trips into her busy weeks with new friends that shared the same excitement at the men-

102 Janette and her brother

tion of a “new peak” or “ice chandelier”. In the first few years of mov- ing to Colorado, she began to build a new kind of community that she described as her “home away from home”. Her enthusiasm connected climbers from all over the world as she mentored women and climb- ers of all levels. And along the way she still made time to share this same passion with her mom and brother on short trips snowshoeing in Washington or a first desert climb in Boulder. Janette often thought about the balance between the risk and mas- tery of her sport. It was no secret that she was committed to excellence and never shied away from an opportunity to better her skill through strategy and precision. And in doing so, she climbed ranges and peaks that few women or men have dared to. And at each new challenge, she reflected on why she chose to continue to climb and what the sport meant to her. We can only imagine that it was simply what nature taught her. Her account on the descent of Mt. Aspiring in New Zea- land that she named after Philosopher Thales says it all: “We named our Mount Aspiring South Face route Thales, to celebrate life– the here and now.” “I have no regrets. I have gambled and lost. It was all in the day’s work. At least I have had the unforgettable taste of the sea on my lips. I am not talking about living dangerously. Such words are meaningless to me... It is not danger I love. I know what I love. It is life.”

103 Janette is survived by her mother, Joanna Ng; father, Philip Heung; brother, Vincent Ng; and grandmother Lee Sau Yin.

104 Eva Krchova

ear Friends and Family of Janette coming from the near D and the far, My name is Eva. Janette used to call me her Little Sis while she was the Big Sista to me. Which as you can tell is ironic given our heights. I was first introduced to Janette through Colin Simon. It was De- cember 2014, a couple months after I moved to Colorado, and Colin and I were going ice-climbing to the Rocky Mountain National Park to climb the Squid. I was a newbie and I was excited to be as cool as my new cool Boulder friends. Colin told me Janette would join us. Usually newbies are humble but I was arrogant. Why is he bring- ing another chick?! We are supposed to climb as a party of two. My ambitious self didn’t want to be slowed down by the third partner. Colin answered that Janette is super strong and that they were going to Canada together and he needed more vertical mileage with her. I also remembered there was some rumor within the local Boulder Boyzzz Club that such a badass woman is supposedly in the town. We were all meeting the next early morning at my house for the alpine start. At 4am the strong lady climber knocks on my door. Before I reached the doorbell to open the door to this noblewoman, my brain has already created an apparent image of Janette for me. Well, she climbs ice, she climbs that scary stuff with duuudes and she is a strong. It is gonna be a buff tall woman with an eyepatch, scar on her cheek, a pirate flag attached on her ice axes, parrot on her shoul- der and will have a backup sword behind her belt. I opened the door with high expectation and.. looked down. There wasn’t a pirate lady in front of me. There was a petite cute Asian gal with a perfect eyeliner and big hanging earrings. My brain was surprised and immediately went into the judging mode. “Is this the lady who is supposed to join us?” my jerk brain asked. “Hi, I’m Janette,” she said gently and my judgmental brain was con- fused. Janette, Colin and I drove to the Park and hiked into the ice water-

105 Photo, Eva Krchova fall. Colin was supposed to be the rope gun this day so he tied in first. Colin is an excellent climber but that day he did not set up the top anchor. He wasn’t feeling solid and asked to be lowered down. Janette with her quiet and soft voice mentioned she would give a try. If I was originally expecting the pirate babe and was disappointed with the absence of the Queen of the Black Coast - That mighty charac- ter of the uncharted water was all of sudden on the scene. Janette hit and kicked the ice like a fearless buccaneer climbing the icefall with tremendous might yet elegance, peace and grace. Later, I did share my shallow judgment with Janette. She giggled and without any constraints, as she has done to all of us, she invited me to create a meaningful friendship with her. Janette took me under her wings, started calling me her Little Sis and became my ice climbing mentor for that season. We stayed in touch while I moved back to Europe and we always recreated that friendship when I was visiting Boulder again. Our last climb happened a month ago when we went climbing back to the Rocky Mountains National Park. We had a splitter weather and

106 the whole Notch Top mountain and the valley just for ourself. Only the chubby marmots were witnessing our talk. A talk of a deep appreciation of the genuine Boulder outdoor family we both found here underneath the Flatirons, a talk of our future dreams and the things of the past we would like to let go. One of the reasons, we all loved to adventure with Janette was the fact the joined outings were not about the sending and reaching the summit. It was living the full life and walking the path with a friend. Janette was a true sidekick striving to understand the complexities of life, a leader of thoughts always asking big questions and last but not least challenging the limits our minds like to set on us. When the darkness moves upon you and you think of impossible - please think of this brave woman from Hong Kong, a place where ladies are culturally not supposed to dig their fingers in the dirt. This pirate noblewoman once dreamed of the mountains and she quested all the way to Boulder, Colorado to meet you to explore the beautiful outdoor realm with you. This was Janette’s ongoing dream and she did achieve it. And that is a reason to be happy, to be complete, to be in peace and to celebrate this fearless woman, Janette Heung. Thank you, Janette’s family for raising such a beautiful human be- ing. I also do acknowledge all of you for slowing down in your thoughts and your sweet adventures during this last week and for reflecting on your friendship with Janette, friendship per se and ultimately, reflect- ing on love. Janette would be so proud of us. She unconditionally cher- ished every single one of you. Adventure in Peace, brave and genuine Pirate Woman, Janette.

Ahoy!

107 Carl Himpsel

was in awe of everything Janette did. Her education - degrees in physics and biomedical engineering and then Harvard School of IPublic Health. The important jobs she had that were doing good in the world. Her tremendous athletic abilities and that she played the violin. Most of all her ability to live every hour of every day to the fullest. Yet she was so modest about it all. I was telling her about the early philosopher Thales of Miletus that I had just read about on our trip. She didn’t mention she had named a new route after him, up a major peak in New Zealand. We met last December. She drew me in with her whimsical smile. She took me to the symphony. I took her to the stock show. We did all the fun things we loved together - dawn patrol backcountry skiing at Caribou, chai at the Trident cafe, hiking to the continental divide, road biking up to Rabbit mountain. One time we went on a virtual date, touring Guggenheim New York online art gallery, and we both picked the same favorite artwork. It was a bunch of squiggly black ink lines on canvas, but according to the description it represented 1000 year sepa- ration and courtship of a princess who turns herself into a spaceship and a knight who evolves plants. Rest in peace Janette, my 1000 year old space princess. I can only hope that I brought as much joy to your life as you have to mine.

Photo, Carl Himpsel

108 109

Photo, Kurt Ross Josh Dig

he purpose of this writing is to try to pry some levity out of the trip to the Winds that took Janette’s life. She was a good Tstoryteller. I choose to remember her as a badass woman who died doing what she loved. Janette and I met one late afternoon inside of Neptune Moun- taineering in Boulder, CO. I had responded to her Mountain Proj- ect post about looking for a partner for the Wind River Range in Wyoming. Neither of us had been there before so we were giddy at the thought of finally getting out there and seeing what all of the fuss was about. She was inside looking at some new approach shoes and I needed to get some 2m cord for my new approach shoes, coincidentally. From the get go I could tell Janette was pas- sionate and driven about the mountains. She told me she was more into ice than rock climbing and, being that rock climbing is 90% mental and ice climbers are 100% mental, I thought that’d be just fine. We talked routes, logisitics, food prep, how many days, move camp once to get to Haystack or just stay in the cirque, et cetera. I am an avid talker and a jittery conversationalist but Ja- nette seemed to be the bubblier of the two of us. We settled on the far off date of the very next day to leave for a six day long trip to the Cirque of the Towers in the Wind River Range in Wyoming. Boyfriend Carl would be joining for the trip but not climbing and, being that my van only had two seat belts (but plenty of seating), we would be taking his Subaru. Janette’s charm would soon be known by the fact that I had agreed to staying in a hotel room for the first night, something a low-life van person such as myself is not easily convinced to do. Janette flew off as fast as she came to try to fit a bike ride in be- fore sunset and I turned my van upside down for all of the accou- trements of camping. Travel life makes long-lasting friendship difficult so I take great joy in the beginning of a new friendship. I could already tell that Janette was no stranger to making fast friends. We texted a few more details and I spent the next morn- ing packing. My rope, her tagline. My totems, her ultralights. How big of a pack do I need? How big of a pack you got? That afternoon I drove over to Janette’s place to pick her up. I parked in the street and walked into a full-blown yardsale junk

110 show hilarity. We are living in an age of interdisciplinary sports but that girl had a finger in every pie. Packed for glacier travel, muddy trail slogs, micro camming, bike shorts, summit scramble (a breakfast food), and everything in between, it was the sugar snap peas and baby carrots that impressed me most. It took us both to get one roll in the dyneema pack before clipping it closed, the plastic buckle groaning in protest. We made for Carl’s, our dedicated hiking guide, being that he had been in the cirque some years before. I didn’t know what to ex- pect of a man who dates an Ice climber chick but doesn’t ice climb himself. I parallel parked my van between two vans of greater value and jumped out. The wizardly and charming Carl appeared and greeted me wholesomely with a great smile perched within a wiry beard like a bird in a bush. I could tell all three of our enthu- siasms would make for a good trip. Bags packed and we were off like a bat out of hell. Sorta. Carl’s Subie chastises you in a beeping language if you veer out of the lanes. We took turns driving carefully, the way bats really do navigate, with sounds warning of nearby boundaries. Janette told me of her work in the outdoor community and how its in- tersection with Public Health could really change the world. Carl explained some of the sorcery of satelites to us. I gabbed about absolutely nothing for far too long. Later, we feasted on thai food. Janette got tofu so then Carl and I got tofu. None of us are veg- etarians and, in fact, were each smuggling a separate salami into the cirque for later nibbling. Janette managed to find a hotel for us while naming off dozens of water ice 5s she’d cranked up. I told her that where I’m from around Philadelphia, Water Ice is a nice summertime treat also known as Italian Ice. We rolled into a hotel in a different time zone and set our alarms unknowingly. The next morning we rattled on and reached the trailhead. We moved our toothbrushes from our small packs to our big packs and walked exactly six miles before stopping. The trail became a slough as we guessed whether or not we were at the high point yet before dropping into the cirque. Conversation turned from Ja- nette’s worldly travel to panting while we gained Jackass Pass. Another lake invented itself as, I could swear, the Earth before

111 Photo, Josh Dig

us grew an extra mile that wasn’t on the map before and soon we were on the upslope of the saddle that accesses the cirque. When we crested over and looked at the Cirque of the Towers there were no words. In the cradle of a granite cathedral we stomped vaguely downhill towards some tents to find a temporary home. We set up camp and ate astronaut dinners out of aluminum- lined bags and talked about books. Carl would be reading a prim- er on philosophy the next day while Janette and I would climb the Northeast Face of Pingora. Carl would also hike to Texas Pass, as he did some years ago, and try to spot us on the sky line from the north. Soon the sun set and we watched the least shy stars poke through the firmament before the greedy full moon rose and washed it all out. Janette coyly whipped out her phone and identi- fied Saturn and Jupiter to the south, right between Warrior I and Warrior II. Over the next few days it was always time for dessert when those two planets became visible between those towers. We laid our heads on our makeshift pillows and drifted off, not to sleep but to restless limbo, as altitude would dictate on night one. Dawn’s buttcrack. We marched off to Pingora, eager. Janette, the type of climber who, if ever felt any stress, presented on the

112 surface as a smooth operator during the pitch 1 traverse. I fol- lowed that pitch thinking she was fearless. “A little interesting downclimb here,” she chirps from the relative safety of the an- chor, as I friction down to join her wondering what grade we’re really climbing. We made some friends at the bottom and, be- cause Janette and I were lickity split, didn’t see them until some hours later when we were already down eating dinner. Janette was a confident leader but what impressed me more was how fast she followed my pitches. The only time I saw her think twice was when a hobnobbing swoop of swifts enjoyed their morning dive right past us at mach speed. We scampered up Pingora, swinging leads, and topped out on Sept. 3rd around 1:30pm. For about an hour we were up there enjoying the summit with no one around, an absolutely transcendent feeling on such a popular peak. Pingo- ra is the Shoshone word for inaccessible peak. In more ways than one that day felt outside the mortal realm of man. On the summit, ironically, we were grounded again and appeased our egos by taking selfies with her better phone and my slightly longer arm. We worked our way down and had campfire revelry without the fire and got a run down from Carl of the world’s earliest philoso- phers. I made rice pudding with dried coconut milk. Carl and Ja- nette ate it, probably out of pure charity, and we were soon joined by Saturn and Jupiter. Tonight, real sleep. Tomorrow, Wolfshead. Dawn’s majestic buttcrack, again. We pitied some early morn- ing headlamps already high on Pingora, built ourselves up with caffeine and oats, and headed north to Tiger tower, our way up to the East Ridge of Wolfshead. Carl would join us this morning and see what Cirque lake had to offer and, godwilling, gain the pass between Wolfshead and Overhanging tower and give us a report on the next valley over. We split up at the gully up Tiger tower and we were off. Janette’s specialty is Ice. Mine is Rock shenanigans. But the East ridge of Wolfshead is, simply put, adventuring. People compare it to Matthes Crest in California but, in retrospect, I’d liken it to something out of The Magic Schoolbus. Imagine you are shrunken down to the size of an ant and your task is to meander, counter- weight, and tunnel this way and that way, the way an ant crawls without apparent respect for gravity, along fins making up the ridge, chimneys going through the ridge, clever downclimbs cir- cumnavigating the rounded towers, and delicate traverses along

113 blocky ledges. There are route finding challenges and the unique choice of whether to hand-traverse or foot-traverse some of the incipient cracks leading through the maze. It’s like a jungle gym more than a rock climb and it’s every bit adventure the whole day. It’s titillating the whole way but it’s never dangerous or too difficult so we spent the day like daredevil kids walking a known path but feeling like real explorers. On the way down we ran into someone Janette knew. She knew a lot of people who were in the cirque that time, a testament to the vast constellation that is that woman.

Photo, Josh Dig

114 We walked the planks of the descent trails and finally gained the pass Carl had quested for many hours ago. My platypus had broken early on in the day so all day long Janette had been giving me sips from her Nalgene. Together we each only had about a litre of water that day so we held a great celebration at cirque lake and I repaid the day’s favor by treating water for us until we were whole again. We clammored down to camp and sung the moun- tain’s praise to Carl who listened intently. Sleep came naturally. Day three, rage time. We settled on the East face of Pingora, Left Side Cracks, as our final route. I was tired as shoe leather but Janette showed no signs of slowing down. We took independent crack lines up and past a party of three that were moving at the pace of a party of three for a table at Applebee’s. We lost track of which pitch we were climbing and Janette styled the wide crack crux, something reserved usually for beefeaters such as myself. We swung massive pitch lengths and simulclimbed and chomped down 1,600ft of vertical in about 8 large bites. We topped out at 1:30 and no one was behind us. We joined some friends we made along the way at the top. I was surprised, as this was the first day we did not see someone at the top of a climb that Janette knew and had shared some fun with in some far off land before. We were on the ledges leading to the descent when she refused to unrope. There was a 25 foot, low angle hand crack leading just higher. It was superfluous because we’d have to reverse the gain in order to rap. Doesn’t matter, we’re climbing the East side Cracks right? And, if that wasn’t enough, when she got to the top of that moun- tain she just kept on climbing.

115 Kristen Mcculloch

y name is Kiisten Mcculloch. I met Janette when she walked Mup to me on Main Street in Telluride and started talking to me out of the blue. It was 2013 and we were both volunteering at Mountainfilm Festival. I remember thinking, who is this girl, just talking to a stranger on the street?! It was Janette, and I am so grateful that she came up to me that day because she became one of my very best friends. Before I begin, I wanted to ask all of you a question. Please raise your hands if you ever met someone new through Janette? This is a testament to who she was in the community, the many communities she was a part of. I want to just recall some of my favorite qualities about her. She was nonjudgmental. She made time for those she cared about, like really made time. She was light-hearted, thoughtful, quick to laugh. She was modest. She observed. She met life with open arms and had such love for others. The sparkle in her eye was contagious. I remember her mirth- ful smirk, her easily amused easy nature. Her brightness. She was open and yet there was always a level of mystery to her. At least in her passing, we finally know her real age. She was a connector and that ability is why we are here. It’s what gives purpose and meaning and she was constantly con- necting with others. She led a meaningful life. She was able to bring new people together and keep up with older friends too. She understood life and circumstance and that sometimes both of those would get in the way of seeing each other. That neither deterred her from trying nor affected the friendships she formed. She found joy with those she cared about. Her ability to understand people was uncanny. She had an openness to her that invited people to feel safe and accepted in her company. She was able to see the greater good in every hu- man she came across. Every experience with her was fun and ful- filling because she had an insatiable sense of curiosity andthe conversations were always fed by her challenging questions. She was able to share her sense of wonder and humility with

116 Photo, Kristen Mucolloch those around her. Open discussions that dove deep at every turn were her specialty. She was philosophical, spirited and so smart. Janette lived life fully, and from a young age. She chose a chal- lenging and intellectually stimulating route academically, going to Tufts and then Harvard University. From dedicating herself to creating a career she cared about to volunteering with multiple organizations, she was present in every aspect of her professional life. She was always learning the latest theories about leadership, negotiation, and strategies.What she learned professionally, she brought into her personal life. I remember sitting with her as she debated over which continuing education certificate she could do at “her alma mater,” painstakingly weighing the pros and cons of each. She did both, of course. During her professional career, she worked in healthcare poli- cy, consulting and in conservation and outreach. She loved work- ing with others, as if each new person was a new rock climbing route to figure out. At one time she was the Deputy Director of

117 the newly formed Colorado Office of Outdoor Recreation. Janette served on The Nature Conservancy’s Young Professionals 13ers Advisory Council. She cared deeply about the intersection be- tween conservationism and outdoor recreation. She was an ambassador for Hyperlite Mountain Gear, Arcteryx, and Bobo’s Oat Bars, and served on the Steering Committee of the Rocky Mountain Harvard University Club. She taught clinics at the Ouray Ice Festival and co-founded Unleashed, a community network for ice, mixed and alpine climbers in Colorado and be- yond. She had recently begun a new job with UCAR as the as- sistant director of Community Programs. She also contributed to the American Alpine Club, which leads me to her greates passion. Janette was accomplished in so many ways, but all of us, are in awe of her ability as a rock climber, ice-climber and mountaineer. She was so humble and nonchalant about her achievements, but she was beyond talented. Her skill took her to put up a first ascent in New Zealand, but all we heard of the trip, if anything at all, was she did “oh, a little ice-climbing.” This speaks to her modesty and how present she was in her life-- the future was bright and the past was something she had done exactly as she’d planned. She was in awe of rugged terrain and her soul opened a little more every time she summited something new. What she learned on her countless adventures, she had the ability to integrate into her being, into who she was and how she saw the world. The discomfort of type two fun enabled her to tolerate and transform the uncomfortable emotions of life... In my time knowing her, I watched her evolve and grow. Her adventures created a marvel- ously whole and complete person.. She, more than most, understood that life was to be lived, not lamented. She had a way of comforting her friends, by helping us see the positive side of a seemingly hopeless situation. It is so unfair to imagine a world without Janette in it, but I hope that we will all do our part to integrate what we loved and admired about Janette into our own lives. She saw the world openly and she saw her friends the same way too.

Janette, I miss you and I love you so much. Thank you.

118 Laura Isanuk

hen you were with Janette Heung, you were living your Wlife to the fullest and walking with a friend. We had many sessions in the gym where more time was spent in the locker room talking than actually climbing. She was always curious and excited about your world, and she carried that passion into ev- erything she did and with everyone she met Thousands of people have been bettered by her kindness and enthusiasm. Janette was humble, without an ounce of braggadocio. I knew she ice climbed but didn’t really know. I first understood her level of skill when she spoke to a crowd of 80+ women at the Denver Arc’teryx store, one of her many sponsors. The first two speak- ers of the Women of Winter talk were skiers and snowboarders— sports much of the audience was more familiar with; then came Janette. As she shared images of her climbs from Canada, New Zealand, China, and of course all over the USA, I—and everyone looking on—was floored by her vertical adventures. On ice, Heung led WI 5 and 6 routes in many of North Ameri- ca’s best cold-weather climbing destinations. A small selection of those includes: Nemesis (WI 6) on the Stanley Headwall in Banff National Park, Canada; Mummy Cooler IV (WI 5-6) in Hyalite Canyon, Montana; Bridalveil Falls (WI 5+/6) and Ames Ice Hose (WI5 M6 R) in Telluride, Colorado; The Black Dike (WI 4-5 M3) on Cannon Cliff, New Hampshire; Gravity’s Rainbow (WI 5 M1) and Bird Brain Boulevard (WI 5 M5) in Ouray, Colorado; The Fang (WI 5-6) and the Rigid Designator (WI 5) in Vail, Colorado; Alexan- der’s Chimney (WI 4 M4) and Hallett Chimney (AI 5 M5) in Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado; the Weeping Pillar (WI 5-6) on Upper Weeping Wall, Icefields Parkway, Canada; andMindbender (WI 5+) on Mt. Pisgah, Lake Willoughby, Vermont. Perhaps her crowning achievement was a first ascent on the South Face of Mount Aspiring, New Zealand Grade 5, in September 2016, with the guidance of local climber Allan Uren and her partner Lukas Kirchner. She named it Thales. She wasn’t picky when it came to outdoor recreation, often of the attitude that “Any ice at all is good ice!” Janette pushed extra hard for many climbs since she was usu-

119 ally surrounded by men, occasionally with one other woman for support. The men were not non-inclusive, but they were focused on their objectives (or sometimes drinking.) An extraordinary thinker, she desired deeper interactions and community as she tackled the many harrowing climbs; she could talk climbing with the best of them, but wanted more out of the experiences. Never- theless, you know homegirl persisted and did not complain (and yes, she still joined for a drink). Janette excelled in any situation she was thrown into, no mat- ter how foreign. Born in Hong Kong, she made her way to Bos- ton for high school (Exeter), college (Tufts), and graduate school (Harvard). She was always humble and kind, a true Coloradoan that way, where she had relocated and lived for the last several years of life. As impressive as her climbing was, her professional accomplishments were equally so: She was a respected consultant at Deloitte and JWG Global. Her final role was with the Univer- sity Corporation for Atmospheric Research (UCAR), a nonprofit consortium of more than 115 North American colleges and uni- versities focused on research and training in the Earth system sci- ences. Janette’s work involved sharing UCAR’s research with the community. Volunteer time was important for Janette, especially the five years we overlapped on the Young Professional Council of The Nature Conservancy in Colorado, called the 13ers. She was pas- sionate about keeping nature wild and accessible. She had a spe- cial spot in her heart for connecting nature to urban areas for youth, having grown up in Hong Kong with minimal outlets. Her passing from a freak fall while rappelling in the Wind River area of Wyoming was a shock and deep loss to all her com- munities, climbing and otherwise. While rappelling from Pingora in the Cirque of the Towers, rockfall cut the cut sling anchor to which she was attached. The others in her team were able to grab onto nearby objects or each other, but Janette was unable to react in time and fell 400 feet. By the time her team was able to get down to her, she was unresponsive. In the American Alpine Journal, Janette recounted her team’s first ascent of Thales: “After being in the shade all day onthe south face, topping out onto the Coxcomb Ridge into the warm

120 afternoon sun felt instantly rejuvenating. We safely reached the summit by late afternoon and carefully descended the northwest ridge. We named the route Thales, in honor of the ancient Greek philosopher’s thoughts on fluidity and mindfulness.” Climbing for Janette was part of her way of life; as much joy as she derived from it, it was not simply about having larks in the mountains. Janette’s mother shared at her memorial that “life is to be lived, not lamented.” As her climbs and thoughtfulness speak to, that’s exactly what Janette did.

121 122

Photo (top), Enrico Calvanese, on Pic Tyndall; Photo (bottom), Mathijs Affourtit Ken Pearson

ike a few of the current Harvard Mountaineering Club mem- Lbers, I only met Janette in 2019, when she joined the HMC summer trip to the Italian Alps. Her affable personality and quick humor belied the intensity and deliberateness with which she ap- proached climbing and conservation. In a rare combination, Jan- nete’s knowledge was equal to her passion, and she could con- verse for hours about everything from philosophy to land use. She was also a phenomenal climber. Standing atop the Breithorn and taking in the majesty of it all, she pointed out a gnarly mixed rock and ice line far beyond my skills, that she had climbed years ago. Unsurprisingly, she continued to impress. Fearless but not reckless, Janette represented the best of the climbing community. After the trip, I didn’t talk to Janette again until late fall, when she was back in Cambridge for a conference. She wanted to do some trail running before work, so I picked her up and we head- ed out to Middlesex Fells. It was a typically crisp New England morning and we chatted our way down the trail, our conversation interspersed with easy silence and an appreciation for the sanc- tuary that is nature. In our last conversation, she reflected again on “type II fun” and the satisfaction born only of suffering and struggle. To Jannete, they were necessary but transitory states on the path to deeper happiness. On the mountain or on the trail, Janette seemed to take pleasure in every moment, joy with every breath.

123 Cabin Report

espite closing two weeks early in March, and all of the crazi- Dness of 2020, the Cabin has never been on firmer footing. After several years of hard work, Brianna Beswick’s (‘13, HLS ‘18) vision of a cabin management board has finally hit its stride, with Hannah Waight (‘10, GSAS ‘12) taking over as the interim president. We bid farewell to Chris Wu, our caretaker of the last two years, because he has been hired full time by the Forest Service. Go Chris! Given the ongoing pandemic, we decided not to open the cabin this year. However, the Forest Service reached out because of the impor- tant role the caretaker serves. We were able to get a $3000 grant from the New Hampshire Outdoor Council and exceeded our $6000 fund- raising goal on GoFundMe! A huge thanks is due to the community for supporting these fundraising efforts and allowing us to hire Erik Samia to serve as cabin caretaker for the entire winter! Finally, volunteers have made several important upgrades to the cabin. Ted Carman (‘63) and his nephew Cris installed new windows, drastically improving interior lighting. Paul Bilodeau upgraded the radio system, improving the reliability of our vital communication equipment. Our next major project is to replace the outhouse, which is really at the end of its life. Chris Wu did a fantastic job planning that project before his departure, and we have already begun raising money to make the replacement. While we’re all happy to put 2020 in our rearview, the future is looking bright!

- Ken Pearson Cabin Liaison 2019-2021

124 Club Activities

he two years since distributing our last journal have been pret- Tty eventful. As always, with a club whose activity is as member-led as ours, I apologize if I missed important trips or events! For starters, at the time of our last publication we were losing our home of fifty years (the clubroom in Claverly Hall, Adams House), and the details of where we were going hadn’t quite been sorted out. At the end of much negotiation with the administration on the part of Coz Teplits, Vladislav Sevostianov, and others, the HMC was given a new club- room in the Student Organization Center at Hilles (a.k.a. the SOCH). While the building may not be as historic and our marble lion head will be missed, the move did come with the perks of a more spacious gear room and access to a massive fridge and industrial-sized washing machine. Since Harvard Mountaineering 30 came out, the club saw a crew head once again to Red River Gorge, KY, for spring break of 2019, and plenty of weekend trips to Rumney, Cathedral, and the Gunks during both school years. The larger trip destinations included Mt. Denali (us- ing entirely vegan gear and food!), a trip to the Matterhorn (and other Alpine destinations), and another to Greece for some sport climbing paradise. The annual introductory ice climbing trip to Keene Valley, NY (“the Daks”) happened on schedule in J-term of 2020, as well as some intro climbing trips closer to campus (even ones that only in- volved a T ride). Starting in March of 2020, the COVID-19 pandemic sent everyone on campus home and shut down all official in-person club activity. Some things could be adapted, with weekly meetings and speaker events moving to Zoom, and even a virtual Visitas. One upside of holding online meetings was the appearance of members and alumni who had moved hundreds of miles away from our clubroom. While we had to miss our in-person talk from John Porter (president of the UK-based Alpine Club), we co-hosted Len Necefer (founder of NativesOutdoors) with HOC, and we look forward to a talk from Don Nguyen and Crys- tal Hudelson (co-founders of Climbers of Color). Of course, Zoom is a poor substitute for seeing people face to face, and the activities that are the main purpose of the HMC are not things that can be done virtually. I believe that I speak for everyone when I

125 say I am immensely impatient for the day it is safe enough for all our members from around the world to gather together again at craigs and summits. Over the summer of 2020, the murders of Brianna Taylor, George Floyed, and many others, and the subsequent protests led the board to reflect on our part in ongoing institutional racism. HMC, in an echo of the exclusion present in the world of outdoor recreation at large, continues to be unrepresentative of the diversity of the broader Har- vard community. The club’s mission is to facilitate people of Harvard getting outside and learning to love the wild places and the activities we do there. We can only fulfill that mission if we actively work to overcome the barriers that stop people of many different marginalized groups from feeling safe or welcome in our club. We know this will be a long and difficult process, and that we will make mistakes. To take a step in the right direction, the board created an Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion committee as a space for members to share their feedback and ideas. We envision an elected EDI chair, which will be voted on at officer election time, who will lead the EDI committee and be an insti- tutional force for continuing to improve the club, as well as a resource for every member and prospective member to bring questions, con- cerns, and visions to. We are also committing to every officer attending a Diversity Peer Educator training. From a global pandemic, to a contested election, to mass protests and counter protests, the world has felt a bit wobbly. While HMC could not avoid the chaos, and January 2021 is the first time we won’t hold the Daks trip in over a decade, I am comforted by the stability of 8PM eastern time club meetings, with their familiar faces from many backgrounds, and our club-wide love of outdoor activities. May the coming years show that that shared love continues to bring us together through times of trouble and of calm, and may the club continue to bring joy and excitement for many Harvard Mountaineering editions to come. - Elissa Taylor ‘22 HMC President, 2019-2021

126 Membership of the Harvard Mountaineering Club

Active Members

Alberto Amadei, Carlo Lawlor, Jack Beeman, Allison Liapis, Andreas Biggs, Charlie Manninen, Ethan Cabot, Matthew Nazara, Rob Castore, Sofia Nelson, Adam Corrigan, Liam Nilson, Tyler Craven-Brightman, Lincoln Osmulski, Sarah DePorzio, Nick Partridge, Chris DiPietro, Tom Payne, Carolyn Ennis, Eliza Perez, Christopher Foppiani, Nicolò Popp, Charles Foroohar, Zara Rith-Najarian, Leslie Garrett, John Salazar Cizón, Belén Georgoulis, Paul Schaeffer, Beau Han, Jesse Sevostianov, Vladislav Hilibrand, Ari Shin, Eura Hofstedt, Rosemary Sutton, Kyle Hollingsworth, Kayla Truong, Lauren Janssen, Joe Vahedian Movahed, Hanif Kennison, Alec Venkatramani, Aditya Kowalske, Nick Wurmser, Serena Latusek, Walter

127 Life Members

Aklik, Emin 5045 West 66th Street, Edina MN 55439 Alt, James B. 166 Bunker Hill Road, Tamworth, NH 03886-4110 Ames, Edward A. Two Spaulding Lane, Riverdale, NY 10471 Anagnostakis, Christopher 141 Linden St. New Haven, CT 06511 Arnason, John G. State University Of New York, Dept. Of Earth & Planetary Sciences, Albany, NY 12222 Arnon, Stephen S. 9 Fleetwood Court, Orinda, CA 94563 Arsenault, Steve 5 Tilden St., Bedford, MA 01730 Aspinwall, Peter Po Box 656, 31926 Indian Hills Drive, Gold Beach, OR 97444-0656 Atkinson, William C. 343 South Ave., Weston, MA 02493 Baldwin, Edward K 25 Mount Pleasant St, Westborough, MA 01581 Barrett, James E., Jr. Ten Ledyard Lane, Hanover, NH 03755 Bartlett, Alex Beal, William, Jr. 692 Dundee Rd., Po Box 1, Jackson, NH 03846 Benner, Gordon A., Dr. 33 Keswick Court, Oakland, CA 94611-2517 Bernays, David J. 45 Wenham Rd., Topsfield, MA 01983 Bernbaum, Edwin M. 1846 Capistrano Ave., Berkeley, CA 94707 Beswick, Brianna 303 E. 16Th Ave. #1, Anchorage, AK 99501 Blake, Judith, Dr. 11 Ridgeway Dr., Bar Harbor, ME 04609 Blauner, Jeanne Bloxham, William 14 Washington Square, Marblehead, MA 02139 Bouce, Rick, Dr., Bradley, Dan 221 Highland Ave Unit 1, Somerville, MA 02143 Brataas, Arne, Dr. Breen, John 8 Crescent Hill Ave., Lexington, MA 02173 Briggs, Ann Morrill 480 Hale St, Palo Alto, CA 94301 Briggs, Winslow R. 480 Hale St, Palo Alto, CA 94301 Brown, Jeffrey 7601 West Mercer Way, Mercer Island, WA 98040 Brown, Richard 4375 Ampudia St., San Diego, CA 92103 Brown, Steve 20 Commonwealth Avenue, Boston, MA 02116 Brown, Will 13 Williams Glen, Glastonbury, CT 06033 Brushart, Thomas M., Dr. 3803 St Paul Street, Baltimore, MD 21218 Bullough Per, Molecular Biology And Biotechnology, University Of Sheffield, Sheffield, United Kingdom Burke, Emily 44 Birch Lane, Moultonborough, NH 03254 Usa Burke, James F. 10 Erick Rd, Unit 44, Mansfield, MA 02048-3076 Callaghan, Haydie 22 Ashcroft Road, Medford, MA 02155

128 Calvanese, Enrico via Mentana 12, Padova (PD) 35141, Italy Carman, Edward C., Jr. 24 Cheshire St, Jamaica Plain, MA 02130 Carman, Peter T. Box 686, 6780 Lupine Trail, Wilson WY 83014 Carpenter, Dunbar 427 E. Gorham Street, Unit 111, Madison, WI 53703 Carter, Ann 361 Centre St., Milton, MA 02186 Carter, Madeleine C. P. 7106 Radcliffe Lane, Glen Echo, MD 20812 Chamberlain, Lowell Johnson Chamberlain & Co, 14 Commercial Boulevard Suite 125, Novato, CA 94949 Chi Tao, Winston, Ph.D. 6 Washington Ave., No22, Cambridge, MA 02140 Chu, Vincent B. 820 14Th St., San Fransisco, CA 94114 Clark, Brian Edward 700 Huron Ave, 14C, Cambridge, MA 02138 Clarke, William L. Cobb, John C., Dr.10501 Lagrima De Oro Rd Ne Apt 342A, Albuquerque, NM 87111 Coburn, John F., 30 Princeton Ave., Beverly, MA 01915 Collins, Joseph H., 63 Commercial Wharf, Apartment 8, Boston, MA 02110 Contod, Robert L., Jr. 66 Scott Road, Belmont, MA 02478 Conway Ryan 14 Lakeville Road, 12A Jamaica Plain MA 02130 Coombs, David K. 1515 Zamia Avenue, Apartment 4, Boulder, CO 80304-4422 Coulter, Douglas E. Po Box 48, Chocorua, NH 03817-0048 Cox, Rachel Schieffelin 2946 Newark St N W, Washington, DC 20008-3338 Crane, Peter Cronk, Caspar 8 Langbourne Avenue, London N6 6Al, England, Cummins, Clint A. Dr, 761 Allen Court, Palo Alto, CA 94303-4111 Custer, David D’Arcy, Ray 480 4Th Street, Oakland, CA 94607-3829 Daniels, John L., Jr. 39 River Glen Rd., Wellesley, MA 02181 Denhartog, Stephen L. 102 Blueberry Hill Dr. Hanover, NH 03755-3422 Derry, Louis A. 1334 Coddington Rd, Brooktondale, NY 14817-9541 Dettmar, Ted 3501 S. 15Th Street, Arlington, VA 22204 Dickey, Tom Ding, Tai Boon 108 Elm Street, Apt. 3, Cambridge MA 02139 Dolginow, Yale Doug 12307 Stoney Creek Road, Potomac, MD 20854-1169 Drayna, Dennis T., Dr 10600 Cloverbrooke Drive, Potomac, MD 20854 Driscoll, Edward C., Jr Dr, 11 Sandstone, Portola Valley, CA 94028 Dumont, James A. 1972 West Hill Road, Lincoln, VT 05443 Dunn, Frederick L. Dr. 3829 22Nd St, San Francisco, CA 94114 Durfee, Alan H. 20 Atwood Drive, South Hadley, MA 01075-1602 Echevarria, Dr. Colorado State University, Ft. Collins, CO 80521 Elizondo-Thomson, Luis 1129 Banks St, Houston, TX 77006

129 Elkind, James D. 23 Slough Road, Harvard, MA 01451-1839 Embrick, Andrew, Md. Valdez Medical Clinic, P.O. Box 1829, Valdez, AK 99686 Erskine, Linwood, Jr. 41 Brooks Rd., Paxton, MA 01612 Estreich, Lisa Ayako 643 West 207Th Street Apt 4A, New York, NY 10034-2651 Faulkner, Nathan W. 286 Beech Hill Road, Hopkinton, NH 03229-2667 Fetcher, Ned, Dr 705 Highland Ave, Clarks Green, PA 18411 Filler, Lukas 1032 Kainui Dr Fisher, Elliot S., Dr. 915 Wallace Road, White River Junction, VT 05001-9228 Flanders, Anthony 61 Sparks St. #3, Cambridge, MA 02138 Ford, Charles 18 Chamberlain Run, Hingham, MA 02043 Forster, Robert W. 2215 Running Spring Drive, Kingwood, TX 77339-3126 Franklin, Fred A. 41 Linnaean St, Cambridge, MA 02138 Freed, Curt R., Dr 9080 East Jewell Circle, Denver, CO 80231 Gable, Carl W., Dr. 1051 Chicoma Vista, Santa Fe, NM 87507 Gabrielson, Curt Student Canter 461, MIT, Cambridge, MA 02139 Gilbert, Scott 40 Holland St., Somerville, MA 02144, 617.864.5506 Goodman, Allen Goody, Richard M. 101 Cumloden Drive, Falmouth, MA 02540-1609 Graham, John Po Box 759, Langley, WA 98260 Graham, William, Prof. 44 Francis Ave, Cambridge, MA 2138 Granit, Dennis 74 Webster Court, Newington, CT 06111 Green, Peter, Dr. Griscom, Andrew 55 Sears Point Road, Chatham, MA 02633, Hallinan, Peter, Dr. 1812 Mezes Ave, Belmont, CA 94002 Hamilton, Iam M. The Grange, East Chillington, Sussex, Lewes Bn7 3Au, England Harding, Robert E., Jr. 1473 Summit Ave, Saint Paul, MN 55105-2242 Hartshorne, Robert C. 768 Contra Costa Avenue, Berkeley, CA 94707 Heller, Chris 47 Rice Street #1, Cambridge, MA 02140 Heriard, Bertrand Herrera, Guillermo, M.D. 18 Norman Rd. Newton Highlands, MA 2461 Heung, Janette 3455 Table Mesa Dr #J216 Boulder CO 80305 Hill, George, Dr. 3 Silver Spring Rd., West Orange, NJ 07052 Hoguet, Robert L., Iii 139 E 79Th Street, New York, NY 10075-0324 Hoisington, Miles 442 Horseneck Rd., Westport, MA 02790 Hoover, Gilbert, Iv 564 Tenth St., Brooklyn, NY 11215 Hope, Peter B., Dr. Po Box 18, Grantham, NH 03753 Howe, David E., Jr. 16 Tamarack Road, Weston Road, MA 02493-2327 Imbrie, John, Dr. 3500 Louisa Rd., Kenswick, VA 22947

130 Jameson, John T., Dr. 1262 La Canada Way, Salinas, CA 93901 Jervis, Steven A. 71 Carroll Street, Apartment 5C, Brooklyn, NY 11231 Jones, Kevin 107 Thunder Rd, Sudbury, MA 01776 Joseph, Nicholas 1557 Jackson Street, Apartment 315, Oakland, CA 94612 Juncosa, Adrian Martin, Dr. 16173 Lancaster Pl, Truckee, CA 96161-1622 Keith, David 361 Harvard Apt 15, Cambridge, MA 02138 Kennedy, Esther Koob, John D. Po Box 444, Danvers, MA 01923-0744 Kramarsic, Joe Box 1342, Dillon, CO 80435 Kwan, Eugene E. 24 Beacon Pl, Somerville, MA, 02143 Lamar, Caroline Po Box 83, Pray, MT 59065 Laursen, Lucas Calle Argumosa 25, 2D, Madrid 28012, Spain Lee, Samuel, 18 Field Road #2, Arlington, MA 02476 Lehner, Michael 142 Chestnut St. #11, Boston, MA 02108 Lehner, Peter H. 530 East 86Th Street, Apartment 14A, New York, NY 10028-7535 Leonard, David 3/2, 19 Highburgh Road, Glasgow, G12 9Yf, Scotland, United Kingdom Lewis, Chad Lewontin, Stephen 107 B Amory Street, Cambridge, MA 02139 Long, Alan K. 43 Great Long, Bedford, MA 01730-2119 Lovely, Karen 427 E. Gorham Street, Unit 111, Madison, WI 53703 Mantel, Samuel J., Jr. 608 Flagstaff Dr, Cincinnati, OH 45215 Mares, David R., Dr. 5019 Bristol Road, San Diego, CA 92116 Margolin, Reuben H. 1183 Delaware Street, C/O Malcolm & Rina Margolin, Berkeley, CA 94702 Markowitz, Aaron 1675 N Los Robles Ave., Pasadena, CA 91104 Marolt, Mike 420 E Main 210A Aspen CO 81611 Marshland, Susan 49 Avon Rd., Kensington, CA 94707 Martin, Walter 11 Seckel St Apt 2, Cambridge MA 02141 Matelich, Michael Maxwell, James, Dr. 1519 Tierra Verde Place Sw, Albuquerque, NM 87105 McCarthy, Peter 3875 Woodside Rd McGrath, Michael R. 440 Barretts Mill Rd, Concord, MA 01742 McGrew, Seth Po Box 45612, Seattle, WA 98145 McLeod, John, Vi, Dr. 5 Maya Lane, Los Alamos, NM 87544 Merriam, George R., Iii, Dr. P.O. Box 39596, Lakewood, WA 98496-3596 Messer, Karen, Dr. 12903 Via Latina, Del Mar, CA 92014 Milde, Paul Miller, Maynard M. 19 Perry St., Cambridge, MA 02139-3911 Millikan, Richard G. C. 1199 Keith Ave, Berkeley, CA 94708-1606

131 Miner, W. Lawrence, Jr. 1004 Nob Hill Ave N, Seattle, WA 98108-3743 Moore, Alexandra, Dr. 1334 Coddington Rd., Brooktondale, NY 14817 Muhlhausen, Carl, Dr. 63 Lauren Lane, Brick, NJ 08723 Myles, David C. 715 Gayley Ave., No. 213, Los Angeles, CA 90024 Nagle, Robert 85 Griggs Road, Brookline, MA 02446 Nevison, Thomas O., Jr., Dr. 1600 Pasture Point Road, Merritt, NC 28556-9754 Newton, John W. 20 Pleasant St., South Natick, MA 01760 O’Brien, Torin Oberdorfer, Anthony H. 150 Fletcher Rd, Belmont, MA 2478 Onofrey, Lauren 150 20th Ave E, Seattle, WA 98112 Ordway, Samuel H., Iii 4900 Jackson Ranch Road, Weed, CA 96094 Page, Robert Alan, Jr, Dr 3125 Woodside Rd, Woodside, CA 94062-2552 Palais, Robert 2148 S Wyoming, Salt Lake City, UT 84109 Pasterczyk, Jim 3201 Landover St. Apt 1417, Alexandria, VA 22305-1932 Paul, Miles, Dr. 2217 Greenlands Rd., Victoria, Bc, Canada, V8N 1T6 Pearson, Kenneth 11937 West Coal Mine Dr., Littleton, CO 80127 Peet, Julie Meck One Irving Place, Apartment P26B, New York, NY 10003 Pelletier, Marc Peterson, David, Dr. 6535 E Superstition Springs Blvd Unit 217, Mesa, AZ 85206 Pihl, Caroline 2245 Baldwin Creek Rd, Lander, WY, 82520 Pittman, Charles A., Iii 4117 West Regency Court, Vero Beach, Fl, 32967-1806 Pomerance, Stephen 335 17Th St., Boulder, CO 80302 Pugh, George, Dr. 1124 Longridge Rd., Oakland, CA 94610 Putnam, William Lowell 1400 Mars Hill Road, Flagstaff, AZ 86001 Radovanovic, Rajko 816 Divisadero St., San Francisco, CA 94117 Rau, Dean, Dr. Po Box 1518, Bayfield, WI 54814 Reichardt, Louis F., Prof., University Of California, Rock Hall 284F, UCSF Mission Bay, 1550 Fourth Street San Fransisco, CA 94158 Reiser, George Po Box 516, 725 Dedham St., Canton, MA 02021 Rich, Paul, President, 1527 New Hampshire Avenue N W, Policy Studies Organization Washington DC 20036 Roberts, David 32 Marcia Rd., Watertown, MA 02472 Robinson, Cervin 652 Broadway Fl 9, New York, NY 10012-2316 Rockwell, Susan C. Po Box 51678, East, 91516 Jerusalem, Israel Partner, The Mattin Group Rodning, Christopher B., Dr. 1629 South Carrollton Avenue New Orleans, LA

132 Rogers, Peter M. 3824 Harrison St. Nw, Washington DC, 20015-1926 Roth, Mark A. Saunamaentie 22 A, 2770 Espoo, Finland Rubin, Alan Po Box 3115, 135 East Leverett Rd, Amherst, MA 01004 Rudey, John 1030 Fifth Ave., New York, NY 10028 Sandrof, Patience B. Ferris 5 Silver Hill Road, Lincoln, Ma, 01773-9403 Scheer, David I., President, 555 Long Wharf Drive, New Haven Scheer & Company, Inc., CT 06511-6107 Schoenberg, Abigail Scudder, Thayer 2484 N Altadena Dr, Altadena, CT 91001 Shankland, Thomas J., Dr 6 Mariposa Ct, Los Alamos, NM, 87544 Sideman, Esq., Richard J. 14 Mara Vista Court, Tiburon, CA 94920 Silva, William J., Md 7315 17Th Ave N W, Seattle, WA 98117-5422 Skinner, Will 1431 67Th St. Apt. B Berkeley CA 94702 Slaggie, E. Leo 6358 Lakewood Drive, Falls Church, VA 22041 Smith, Gordon 21 St. Mary Rd., Cambridge, MA 02139 Smyth, Joseph 1088 Park Ave, Apt. 8C, New York, NY 10128 Sorger, Peter K. 319 Highland Avenue, Winchester, MA 01890 Steele, Benjamin B., Dr. 276 Hanover Center Road, Etna, NH 03750 Story Jr., Leon A. 102 Park St., North Reading, MA 01864 Streibert, Sam 15 Rustic Street, Newton, MA 02158 Strickland, Steve 575 Mill Run Ct., Earlysville, VA 22936 Sullivan, Henney Po Box 135, Eaton, NH 03832 Swanson, David H. Po Box 609, Bangall, NY 12506-0609 Switkes, Eugene, Prof. University Of California, Department Of Chemisty, Santa Cruz, CA 95064 Sylva, Laurie Taggart, W. Blake P., M.D. 103 Shore Drive, Branford, CA 06405-4826 Tanaka, Thomas H. 13861 Se 62Nd St, Bellevue, WA 98006 Tato, Justy Elyser Taylor, Elissa 430 Evans Ave., Missoula, MT 59801 Teague, Charles 23 Edmunds St., Cambridge, MA 02140 Thompson, Mark 5 Hampton Rd., Lexington, MA 02421 Udall, Denis M. 1021 Colusa Avenue, Berkeley, CA 94707 Useem, Michael 352 Wooidley Road, Merion PA 19066 Van Baak, David A. 1643 Hiawatha Road, Se, Grand Rapids, MI 49506 Van Baalen, Marcus R., Ii, Dr. 28 Madigan Ln, Harvard, MA 01451-1305 Waight, Hannah P.O. Box 791, Westminster, MA 01473 Waldo, Nick 851 Ne 56Th St, Seattle WA 98105 Walling, Ritner East Coast Salvage, 29Th And Adams Ave., Camden, NJ 08105

133 Warren, Stephen George, Prof. University Of Washington, Box 351640, Seattle, WA 98195 Watts, James J. 3201 Franklin Ave E, Seattle, WA 98102 Webb, Ian Weinstein, Neil, Dr. 4900 E Calle Guebabi, Tucson, AZ 85718 West, George 1020 Beechwood St., Little Rock, AR 72205 Wheeler, Walter H., III 97 East Hunting Ridge Road, Stamford, CT 06903 White, Arthur, Dr. 835 President St., Brooklyn, NY 11215 White, Eric S., Dr. 237 Oblong Road, Williamstown, MA 01267 Williams, Andrea L. 236 Chestnut St, Cambridge, MA 02139 Winkler, Jaye S. 79 Owens Lane, Glastonbury, CT 06033 Wu, Austin 2105 Babson Drive, Elk Grove, CA 94112

134